Let the Bad Times Roll
by Cole Ortiz
Summary: In a thrilling story ripped from today's headlines, the original NCIS NOLA team will be forced to reunite to deal with new cases and escalating threats none of them could have seen coming – in the Crescent City, and far beyond in this thrilling, action packed final season.
1. Extracurricular Homicide Part 1

_Author's Note - This is my first foray into NCIS New Orleans fanfiction. In the past I've written several seasons of 24 and Sons of Anarchy. This "season" is really a collection of 5 different episodes that are summarized below. Each episode is stand alone though they are linked together somehow, as is on the real show. Meredith Brody's story in particular follows a continuous arc. _

_I started planning this story halfway through Season 3 so that's where the real NCIS world diverges with this. I still have Gregorio as a relatively new NCIS agent that hasn't really adapted yet, Pride and Isler are not on friendly terms yet, and Brody's shadow is still over the team. I really disliked Gregorio in the beginning when I first started planning this story but I don't mind her as much now. However in this timeline Laurel has already gone to New York as some elements are from more modern seasons. Part of this will explain how Sonja returns from her FBI job and goes back to NCIS, and also Hannah Khoury still works for the CIA. I didn't like her character at first so wasn't even going to write her in here but she's alright now. This is a story ripped from today's headlines, and just like some of my favorite authors like Tom Clancy and Vince Flynn, my worldview is quite clear and I make no apologies for it. _

_I happen to be a native of the New Orleans area though I live elsewhere in South Louisiana now so I do try to capture the local flavor, including forays beyond the immediate New Orleans area. The portions set in Appalachia are also inspired by my time living in southern West Virginia before coming back to Louisiana. For logistical purposes that segment takes place in southern Ohio, though that region is similar to West Virginia in many ways. _

OVERALL SUMMARY

The original NCIS NOLA team will be forced to reunite to deal with new cases and threats none of them could have seen coming – in the Crescent City, and far beyond in this thrilling, action packed final season.

EXTRACURRICULAR HOMICIDE

Lieutenant Eddie Prescott was a hero both on and off the battlefield until his body washed up on a levee deep in Louisiana's Plantation Country and it appears he had a surprising number of enemies on all fronts. Now Dwayne Pride and his NCIS team must find out the truth before the body count rises even more. A thousand miles away, beyond the furthest reaches of the South, Meredith Brody has a new career and a new life, one that will eventually force her to face her past with NCIS.

UNHOLY WAR

Sonja Percy has been deployed to the Persian Gulf on an international FBI assignment involving Iranian agents and ISIS jihadis. while Meredith Brody adjusts to life in the DEA where she's having another fresh start. When an Islamic terrorist faction Sonja has been tracking turns the tables on her and U.S. interests come under attack, Sonja must rely on the only people she can trust if she's to make it back home alive.

WHAT HAPPENS IN BILOXI

A Navy officer dies suspiciously at a major Northshore festival one week before she's set to testify in a decade old sexual harassment case against a U.S. House candidate. Brody is torn when its clear Washington simply wants her in her new job to push their agenda rather than provide assistance to local law enforcement who desperately need. Pride and his team are called to investigate the murder, and as the media closes in, it's up to them to find out the truth – as ugly as it may be. Meanwhile, Meredith Brody is quickly falling for a young state trooper on her new joint task force, but is afraid of getting her heart broken again.

ALL LIES MATTER

The black Navy son of a prominent U.S. House candidate dies suspiciously in a confrontation with state police officers. As out of state activists descend on New Orleans and the city threatens to rip itself apart, the NCIS team is on a race against time to "learn things". Brody finds her life on the line as the situation escalates between her drug task force and a heavily armed local criminal outfit with ties to the Mafia. Brody's loyalties are also tested as tensions rise between the outgunned local police she's embedded with and a federal bureaucracy that could care less about the real lives on the line.

BAD NEW DAYS

Pride's investigation into the brazen assassination of a Federal officer in New Orleans leads him closer and closer to Brody's own long-running case. Soon they realize they must work together again if they're to find the answers that have been eluding them. Reuniting with Brody for one last hurrah, Pride takes his team across the Mason-Dixon Line to the Appalachian foothills of southern Ohio, where the good ol' days are over and danger lurks at every turn. As the weight of the past comes crashing down, Brody must make the ultimate decision about her future.

EYE OF THE STORM

The stakes rise to new levels in the thrilling series finale of NCIS New Orleans. As a Category 5 hurricane bears down on New Orleans, Pride's team returns to the Big Easy for a climactic showdown with an enemy deadlier than any they've faced before.

MAIN CAST

Scott Bakula – Dwayne Pride

Lucas Black – Christopher LaSalle

Zoe McClelland – Meredith Brody

Shalita Grant – Sonja Percy

Vanessa Ferlito – Tammy Gregorio

CCH Pounder – Dr. Loretta Wade

Rob Kerkovich – Sebastian Lund

Daryl Mitchell – Patton Plame

RECURRING CAST

Derek Webster – FBI Special Agent Raymond Isler

Scott Eastwood – Sergeant Ricky Parsons, Ohio State Police

Vanessa Kirby – Amber McKenna, Lawrence County Sheriffs Office

Paul Schulz – DEA Special Agent in Charge, Columbus field office

Michael Pena – Marcus Ramirez, DEA, Columbus field office

Isaiah Washington as LaShawn Garner

O'Shea Jackson Jr. as C.J "Moe" Garner

Jason Mitchell – Tre'Vonte "T-Dawg" Harris

Henry Golding - Stephen Khoi Tran

SPECIAL GUEST STARS

Forrest Whittaker – Lieutenant Kevin Gordon, Louisiana State Police

Rocky Carroll – NCIS national director Leon Vance

EXTRACURRICULAR HOMICIDE PART 1

RIVER ROAD – IN BETWEEN NEW ORLEANS AND BATON ROUGE

Scarlett O'Hara, aka 21 year old Nicole LaPrairie of Gonzales, Louisiana, wasn't being a composed, dignified Southern belle right now. That was almost impossible when dealing with DirecTV. In fact, her day had gone quite well before checking her e-mail on her phone while picking up some food from Waffle House after a fun and well-tipped day at her summer job as a historically costumed tour guide at the Houmas House Plantation, aka the Sugar Palace.

Suddenly, she was as aggravated as she'd been in a long time. DirecTV does that to people. But she forced a smile as the pleasant middle aged couple from Colorado that she had met earlier on her tour posed for one last picture with her in her lovely white hoop dress. Her beautiful antebellum outfit seemed out of place in the middle of Waffle House, and perhaps this is why they wanted that picture. After all, DirecTV had her on hold for since she ordered her food, and she'll probably be on hold for 10 more minutes.

"Sorry about that," she said with a sheepish smile, embarrassed that them hearing her curse. "DirecTV."

"You don't gotta tell me nothing more," the gentleman said with a knowing chuckle. "Been there myself, don't even get me started on them! Even worse than the DMV! Switched to Cox and never looked back."

The waitress showed them the picture. "Looks perfect!" the wife said.

"Well, nice running into you again, Nicole. Good luck with school."

"Thanks! And remember, if you're heading toward Baton Rouge, definitely go to Parrain's or Chimes by LSU or Cou-Yon's Barbecue in Port Allen!"

She should have been done with this call minutes ago, but thanks to being put on hold for over 15 minutes then transferred back and forth to two different numbers before being re-directed back to the original department. Nicole got back into her Honda Civic , her change of clothes still in the back, and headed down Highway 44 toward River Road and the Sunshine Bridge river crossing. The bridge also offered a nice view of the Mississippi River below, busy with ship traffic, mostly oil tankers and barges. She usually didn't head this way but she was heading to a friend's property down the bayou for the evening. During a stretch of straight highway, Nicole looked at her phone again. Still on hold, alright.

Suppressing the urge to totally flip out on DirecTV, she slowed down and made a left turn onto a gravel road heading up to the levee. She knew she probably shouldn't be going so fast on the gravel road in her car– she wasn't joyriding through the backwoods in her boyfriend's Chevy Silverado truck – but she had to get up there before she lost the signal. If this phone was disconnected, it would be at least another 45 minutes before she could be speaking to the right people at that cursed company.

"Hopefully you'll be able to help me, finally. This is now the second time y'all have added channels to my account without asking me and then charging me for them. Can you _please _cancel the movies package that I _did not _sign up for and credit that part of the last bill?"

"I'll be glad to assist you but can I have you account number, please?" inquired a static filled voice in a nearly indecipherable singsongy Indian accent. Great, just what she needed. A bunch of idiots in an outsourced call center. If these people are going to steal our jobs, at least do it right, she fumed to herself.

"What? I just typed that in, and told the last person, why do you need it again?"

"I am so sorry but we need it for confirmation. When you dialed the first time it was only to confirm your sus-cription…." He probably meant _subscription _but oh well.

"Alright, give me one second, DO NOT hang up….," singsonged the Indian call center representative.

She got out of her car, opening up the back door to get her backpack where some of her DirecTV invoices were stashed, finally finding it. Okay, it's "13444…"

"Can you slow down please?" the Indian voice said. "I have trouble understanding you."

She shook her head in frustration, as if he could see her. "Okay….its one….three….."

She turned around and looked up the river at the expanse of industrial plants intermixed with the sugarcane fields that have thrived here since the antebellum days. Making her way further along the levee for a better signal, she was also able to look down toward the immediate shore below the levee.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed as she dropped the phone, which fell down the other side of the levee and landed right next to the dead body that was already heavily decomposed.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM! BANG BANG BANG BANG! HOW HOW HOW HOW! YEAHHHHHHHH!

NCIS NEW ORLEANS OFFICE – FRENCH QUARTER

Special Agent Dwayne Pride paced his office overlooking the rest of the facility as he strained to hear Laurel's voice through the phone. It was clear that she was trying to talk over the deafening traffic of New York City in the background. Yes, Pride could sometimes hear the sounds of the French Quarter coming into the office, but that typically consisted of street musicians playing a wide variety of music instead of car horns, cursing drivers and the loud rumbling of a subway train that made Laurel's entire apartment shake.

"Okay, Laurel, remember when I told you about my first week on the job with NOPD, nobody thought I'd last. And now here I am. So remember just hang in there, you hear? Love you!"

Pride hung up the phone as Christopher LaSalle looked up from his desk where he had been working on some paperwork.

"Laurel needed a pep talk, sounds like?" he said in his deep Alabama drawl.

Pride nodded. "She thought that festival in Central Park was supposed to be her big break, supposed to be recruiters and promoters there, but someone else got it instead. Not even a major record label but it would been a foot through the next door."

"Classical music in a festival? Hmmm….." Patton commented, rolling his wheelchair onto the main floor.

"That's New York for you," Gregorio said, "Something I don't expect you people here to understand." She was completely new to the team after being removed from the FBI's drug task force due to a falling out with her superior, Agent Raymond Isler.

"Some of my buddies from Alabama play music gigs for some extra cash, they still just travel to local honky tonk bars around Mobile," LaSalle said. "Flora-Bama would be considered an extreme honor for them." He was referring to the world famous, proudly tacky beach bar and restaurant complex on the state line between Orange Beach, Alabama and Perdido Key, Florida, one of the most well known nightlife spots on the entire Gulf Coast with live music 365 days a year.

"Well those guys didn't go to college for 4 years and get a music degree and move all the way up to civilization," Gregorio said. "And I'm not surprised Flora-bama is your kind of place." It wasn't Gregorio's choice to stay in New Orleans but this is where her career had brought up, with no job prospects back in the Northeast. Plus, the team needed a replacement for Meredith Brody who went on a vacation after their last major case and just never returned without even a formal resignation.

"Civilization? C'mon, Gregorio. Maybe you ought to give her some survival tips about New York. And we do need to get you to Flora-Bama. Take you out of the New York bubble _and _the New Orleans bubble."

In fact, Gregorio had already given Laurel some tips. Most importantly was which parts of Brooklyn were fully gentrified, which were still semi-sketchy but affordable, and which was still off limits. Laurel had to settle for semi-sketchy, and even then she paid over $1500 a month for an efficiency apartment with the kitchen and living room all in one. It was smaller than a typical motel room at Super 8 and would make any extended stay hotel in Louisiana seem 5 star by comparison.

Suddenly, Pride's phone buzzed and he starred at it with a knowing look on his face. "Work calls, people. Body of a Marine reservist just washed up on a levee along the River Road in Ascension Parish. Local cops want the scene cleared ASAP, don't want that kind of attention from those plantation hopping tourists. Bad for business."

CRIME SCENE – DARROW, ASCENSION PARISH

"Nice view of the river from the, um, River Road," Gregorio said sarcastically as the road followed a high levee built by the US Army Corps of Engineers. Despite the name, the River Road offered very few views of the mighty Mississippi. Both banks were lined by tall levees built for flood protection purposes, and while many stretches were still offered sweeping views of the sugarcane fields that first drew antebellum planters to this part of South Louisiana, the massive industrial properties belonging to the oil and gas industry were also very visible here as well.

"Yeah, that's what keeps us from being _in _the river, at least when it rains," LaSalle said.

"Did y'all know that this wasn't always a flood area," Sebastian said. "You see all these plantations here, obviously they wouldn't have built them so close to the river if it flooded all the time. All the levees upriver actually worsened flooding so when the feds built the levees up north, they kinda had to build it all the way downriver too. Hence, Louisiana gets screwed over like always you know."

"That's Washington for you," Pride said.

"Hmmm, feels like a narrow version of the Jersey Turnpike," Gregorio remarked as they drove down the curvy River Road past an endless string of petrochemical plants.

"Without the rust and decay, right?" LaSalle asked. He loved poking fun at her New York background still, and it was true that the warm Deep South air and lush vegetation that also lined the road made it far less depressing than the leaden skies and the decrepit post-industrial landscapes of New Jersey.

"Didn't know there was all this industry down here at all. In fact I didn't think there was anything in Louisiana outside of New Orleans except a bunch of swamps and boring little towns." Even Baton Rouge was a backwater to her.

"Quite a lot, New York," Pride said. As much as Pride loved New Orleans, he was also intimately familiar with the rest of the region.

He motioned out the window. "The stretch of the Mississippi from New Orleans to Baton Rouge has the second largest concentration of refinery capacity and petrochemical manufacturing in the nation."

"New Jersey's first, I guess?" Gregorio said.

"Port Arthur and Beaumont, Texas, actually," Sebastian chimed in. "Lake Charles is up there too. I know it's a random fact, but…."

"Anyway, we're here," Pride said, pulling off onto the turnoff onto the levee. "And looks like Miss Loretta beat us to it again."

They got out of the SUV and walked to the top of the steep levee, seeing the brown waters of the muddy Mississippi spreading out before them. And then the partly decomposed body of a young black man being carried toward the coroner's van.

"What do we got here, Miss. Loretta?" Pride asked.

"Our victim is Captain Eddie Prescott, Marine reservist based in Algiers," Dr. Wade began. "A hero both on and off the battlefield, which has made him some enemies. Also a science teacher at Harriet Tubman High School in New Orleans. He was reported missing to NOPD when he failed to show up to work 5 days ago and nobody was able to reach him."

The police usually didn't take a missing persons report until 36 hours after a disappearance since there was no evidence foul play was involved, and often it was often the person simply not wanting to be found.

Loretta pointed to Nicole being tended to by some paramedics, for emotional shock rather than any physical injuries. She definitely stood out in her period clothing. "Nicole there discovered the body. Summer tour guide at the Houmas House Plantation. Drove up the levee to get a cell phone signal and just stumbled across this."

Pride grimaced, making a mental note to check on the girl in a bit. She was around Laurel's age, maybe a couple years younger, and looked understandably shaken up. "I know we're not at the lab yet, but what can you tell us about the body?"

"Well it looks like he's been submerged for at least 3 days, maybe 4, which is consistent with this timeline. There's no bullet or stab wounds that we know of."

"So we're not sure this is clearly a homicide. A suicide? Some sort of accident?"

"No, but clearly suspicious," a voice said.

Pride looked up and saw Louisiana State Police lieutenant Kevin Gordon and embraced him warmly. They had served in NOPD together for many years before both left for other agencies.

"Kevin! We really need to see one another more often under better circumstances," Pride greeted his old friend and colleague warmly.

"I know! I think last time was the grand opening at the Tru Tone. You know I always invite you up to the Northshore but you're always busy with your work and traveling to see Laurel and all that."

"Maybe when all this is over. As you can see, New Orleans keeps me busy. The surrounding area as well. So, what you got for me? Why makes you believe this is suspicious right off the bat?"

"My office has been helping NOPD with these missing person reports, with them so overwhelmed with all those recent gangland shootings and because my son knew Captain Prescott when they served in Iraq together. It's not like him to just disappear this way. His life, his passion was in that school, helping those kids out and teaching them to aspire to something more than life in the hood. There's so much he could have done with his intelligence but he chose to return to New Orleans and be an inspiration to kids in our city's most troubled neighborhoods. Had more guts than me."

"C'mon, Kevin, don't undersell yourself."

"No, Dwayne. Even you still stayed to serve the city even if you're with NCIS now. I grew up in the city like you, but I hightailed it outta there as soon as something opened up with State Police."

"So the grass _is _greener in Ascension Parish or Covington?"

Gordon glanced at the body being loaded for transport to Dr. Wade's morgue. "Most days. But look, Dwayne, something's not right about this. Not saying it's a homicide, but there's definitely foul play involved."

"Okay, please forward everything you have on the case back to my office. I agree with your instinct too. We need to get to the bottom of this, and quickly."

RIVER ROAD

"Nicole, right?" Pride called out, jogging down the levee to where a clearly still shaken Nicole LaPrairie was about to get into her car. He could clearly see an LSU Tigers bumper sticker on the back of it.

"I'm Special Agent Dwayne Pride, NCIS, you sure you're okay to drive? I can give you a lift and one of my agents can drive your vehicle home. You stay close to here or you live on campus?"

"Gonzales at my parents' house for the summer. About 15 minutes. Yeah, you're right, I probably shouldn't be driving in this condition." She spoke with a clearly noticeable Southern accent that was distinct from New Orleans's native dialect even though they were less than an hour's drive from Bourbon Street.

Pride was glad she didn't argue as LaSalle got in Nicole's car, following them as they drove away from the riverfront and into the sprawl of Baton Rouge's exurbs.

"Agent Pride?" she said. "I….I've heard of you. You're….um….Laurel Pride's dad?"

"You know Laurel?" Pride asked.

"Well….kinda. Small world, ain't it?"

NCIS OFFICE

As touristy as it was, Café du Monde truly did make the best coffee in New Orleans, if not the world, so Pride wasn't at all embarrassed to be carrying a cup from the original French Market location as he strolled into the NCIS New Orleans headquarters on St. Ann Street right across from the landmark Royal Bourbon Hotel "Okay, tell me things," Pride said.

"We've obviously done more digging into Prescott's military history," LaSalle said. "Prescott's unit, the 36th Marine Expeditionary Force, fought a major engagement against ISIS terrorists in Iraq during the operation to relieve pro-American Kurdish pershmerga forces trapped on Mt. Sinjar. We managed to kill ISIS's top commander in northern Iraq, helping turn the tide in favor of the Kurds."

"No doubt the hajis are out for blood," Patton said, rolling his wheelchair toward the center of the room.

"Indeed," LaSalle said. "ISIS placed a $20,000 bounty on his head that's been circling on jihadist websites around the world. That's a lot of money given ISIS's current economic situation following the airstrikes on their Iraqi oilfields."

"Any hits on those websites, someone claiming the bounty?"

"No," Patton said, "I've been monitoring Internet traffic from Islamic chatrooms but nothing so far. No terrorist chatter at all going from Louisiana to the Middle East or Central Asia except for the typical pro-Palestinian bullshit. Plenty of Muslim and left wing students celebrate Hamas attacks in Israel, but no proof they actually have even given material support to any terror groups."

"We need FBI to give us a list and IP addresses of members of the Islamic terrorist watch list that have been in this area in the last few months. Gregorio, you think there's still people you can call in some favors from?"

"I'll try," Gregorio scoffed, "Though it seems like most of the Agency don't want to have anything to do with me."

"But you'll promise to see what you can do, right?" Pride said with a slight edge. Her transition onto the team was more difficult than any of the new members, even Sebastian.

"Yes, Pride. I promise I'll try."


	2. Extracurricular Homicide Part 2

_Author's NOte - Forgot to mention in the intro, Rated T for strong violence and language (including sexual and racial slurs), some sensuality, torture and thematic elements _

HARRIET TUBMAN HIGH SCHOOL, ALGIERS

Gangster rap music blared from multiple car stereos, causing a rumble in the ground as Pride and LaSalle made their way toward the front door of Harriet Tubman High School. This was the New Orleans that tourists rarely saw but was just as real as the French Quarter or the Garden District. While Algiers Point with its ferry terminal and rowdy bars was one of the city's hip neighborhoods, the rest of Algiers remained as downtrodden as it had always been. Several NOPD school resource officers manned the metal detectors at the main entrance, some holding electric wands scanning for hidden guns and knives. Obviously this being a high school rather than an airport, they couldn't subject students to physical searches without just cause.

Several of the teen students stared at the NCIS agents in a hostile manner, some of them taking out their cell phones and snapping pictures and sending text messages. "Let's keep moving, Special Agent Pride," the officer said, ushering them down toward the principal's office. "Pretty soon the whole of Algiers will know you're here."

"Thanks for the heads up, um, Officer Taggart," Pride said, looking at the cop's name badge. "Aren't you supposed to helping build trust between these kids and law enforcement? Isn't that part of your job description in addition to physical protection?"

"Easy for you to judge when you're in your comfy little bachelor pad slash office in the Quarter. You know the city well, but not in the way that we do. It's only gotten worse since you were with NOPD."

"Well being this is your post, I'd like you to join us with Mr. Thomassie," he said.

"I gotta keep the peace out front," Officer Taggart replied. "Over a thousand students, and I'm the only resource officer they have the budget for."

Thomas Dalton Thomassie was the principal of Harriet Tubman High School, one of the city's oldest high schools with a history as complex as New Orleans's. Previously named after legendary Confederate general P.G.T. Beauregard, the South Louisiana native who ordered the rebel cannons to open fire on Fort Sumter in 1861 to challenge the Union blockade, it was renamed after Underground Railroad conductor Harriet Tubman during the wave of political correctness that swept the city under the past several mayoral administrations.

They heard some sly comments about secret agent men and the "po po" from some students who walked by giving them dirty looks.

"Mr. Prescott really is practically white!" Pride heard one tough looking teenage male say to one of his friends. "They sending all these guys from some agency and bullshit! Nigger like us gets killed, shit…they investigate more when some tourist gets their fancy ass rental car stolen! But for some reason they treating Prescott like he some cracker ass motherfucker that got in the crossfire or something!"

Pride took a mental photograph of the young man's gang clothing.

"All eyes on us," Pride said, ignoring the high school student's comment.

"Just keep moving to my office, please," Thomassie said in response.

Thomassie's office wasn't well apportioned

They both breathed more slowly after they went into the small office and took a seat. Pride wanted to make a comment about how perhaps NOPD has been less hands on in this neighborhood because of Black Lives Matter cases and the biased media coverage of them making police afraid to do their jobs in fears of a confrontation with criminals going wrong but bit his tongue.

"They can deduce this is about Mr. Prescott," Thomassie said.

"Lieutenant Prescott to us," Pride said.

"Mr. Prescott," Thomassie said again. "We don't give two shits about fancy military ranks or about the Navy quite frankly. Recruiting our young men, sending them off to die in some far away battlefield just so the white man's economic interests can be protected."

"I'm simply here to do my job, Mr. Thomassie. I see we aren't welcome by everyone in this very building, but I understand Mr. Prescott is a very respected member of this community and we would appreciate any information you or anyone else here might have that can help us solve his murder."

"Well obviously the gangs here aren't too pleased with his competing influences," Thomassie said, sounding from his tone that he didn't like to admit all of this neighborhood's problems was because of mainstream society.

"So you admit Prescott IS having a positive influence here."

"In the way that _you_ might deem positive. Getting people to leave this community, work for the man, utilizing his connections in corporate America."

"Corporate America?"

"Yeah, he does all these outreach with the petrochemical industry, promotes partnerships and such so students can go on internships. He also promotes technical training programs for city youth to help them get jobs in these industries. Garner Plastics in particular, for example. He's set up many opportunities for students with internships and shadowing opportunities there in their chemical plants but everyone knows there's more to it than just that." He said the name of that company with particular disgust. "There's something fishy going on about him. There has to be. Garner Plastics practically owns him if you ask me."

"And why do you think that?" Pride asked with an even expression, trying to hide how disturbed he was that he was speaking to a high school principal. So this is what city schools were like these days?

"Why would someone who was in the military, who graduated at the top of his class in LSU's chemical engineering program come back here to Algiers to teach high school chemistry? He must be running from something, or have secrets, or be doing Garner's bidding. And I do find it suspicious how he managed to trust recently remodel his house in Metairie. But I guess if you impress the right people on the school board, you get a free pass."

"You must not be inspiring your students with your idealism."

"No, Prescott and I differed greatly in what would 'inspire' us, Special Agent Pride."

Pride looked around the office and noticed the Obama campaign sticker, the picture of Malcolm X, and the Colin Kaepernick jersey on the wall.

"I see. You clearly don't seem too pleased that Prescott teaching these students that there's a world beyond….this. Anyway, anyone I should speak to regarding these gangs? Honestly its been a long time since I've been with NOPD, and even then, my unit didn't work this part of town too much."

"See? Of course you didn't," Thomassie scoffed. "As for the gangs, I'm sure they'll find you vs the other way around. The problem with them is they _ain't _here in school, why their lives so messed up."

"This is your school. You know of any _direct _threats that any particular students or gang members have made against Prescott?"

"Nothing specific. Now if there's isn't anything I can help you with, I've got a busy day ahead of me. Despite our differences, Prescott's death is a very difficult for this school and I must help tend to things."

"Of course," Pride said, "I'll show myself out."

ALGIERS NEIGHBORHOOD

Pride and LaSalle saw several violent looking young men along the street as they pulled away from Harriet Tubman High School.

"See them?" LaSalle said, pointing out the window at a group of rough looking youths hanging out on a dilapidated street corner, in front of a liquor store. "The way those doo rags are tied, some of that same gang was in the school."

"I noticed it too. The BGE. Local affiliate's been growing rather quickly these days," Pride said, shaking his head.

"Black Guerilla Family? The guys that drove an RV filled with $3 million worth of drugs from Mexico all the way up to Philly recently?" That had been on the national news, especially since that bust was followed up by a shootout that left two gang members dead and several police officers injured in a wild shootout in North Philadelphia.

"Yes indeed. The gang originated at San Quentin prison in California as a way for black prisoners to protect themselves from both the skinheads and illegal immigrants, but the Garners, a local crime family based on the Lower Ninth, became affiliated with them after LaShawn Garner met several members of their Baltimore outfit when he was in federal prison in Arizona."

"Well I guess we better pay LaShawn and his homies a visit," said LaSalle.

"That's where we're headed now, and we're almost there."

LAROSE LIQUORS AND FOOD STORE, WESTWEGO

The SUV turned off the Westbank Expressway, entering the industrial suburb of Westwego. After passing by several large port facilities along the Mississippi River, they took an off-ramp onto a street dominated by warehouses and small businesses. While most of the BGF's members in Greater New Orleans lived in the city, the gang owned properties throughout the metro area. NOPD had always suspected a lot of their illegal activities, including their drug storage, was in suburban areas, outside of their jurisdiction.

LaRose Liquors and Food Store, a run-down bar, liquor store and quick mart, was a known hangout. There was still a rusty canopy that used to have gas pumps, but it was clear its gas station days were long gone, and the electronic signs were instead used to advertise cigarette prices and the fact that there was a pharmacy coming soon. Pride knew this from his NOPD days when he had many dealings with LaShawn Garner and his crew. While LaSalle had never dealt directly with the BGE outfit in New Orleans, he knew of their existence as did every law enforcement officer in the state. In fact, the BGE had gained considerable resources in recent years and additional outfits were forming in cities across the country.

Typical gangster rap music about "bitches", "hoes" and "niggers" blared as Pride and LaSalle exited their car and walked across the trash-strewn parking lot toward the liquor store and bar. The smell of marijuana smoke was thick in the air, even though this was clearly not a licensed dispensary. But that investigation may have to wait for another day.

"Can I help you?" the man behind the counter said after staring at the two NCIS agents for several long moments.

"I'm here to see an old friend," Pride said. "LaShawn and I go way back. "

"Oh is that so?" the young man said. He was dressed in urban street attire, complete with a doo rag and gold chains. Some people clearly took living the stereotypical Hollywood produced gangsta life too seriously.

"What's goin' on here now, Moe?" another young thug said, walking across the store. "What are these crackers doing here? You know them?"

"You go by Moe now too, CJ? See, I know you too. Like I said, me and LaShawn are intricately connected."

"Yeah, eeny meeny miney Moe! Got that name in prison, heard he was everyone 's bitch."

"Fuck you, T!" CJ said, shoving the man against the beer cave. There was clearly tension between these two.

"Dwayne Pride!" another loud voice boomed as a much taller, older black man came out of a door marked "employees only."

"So you do know, like _know _this guy," LaSalle said in his Alabama twang.

"Christopher, this is La Shawn Garner. LaShawn, this is Agent Chris LaSalle from NCIS."

"NCIS, well you really moving up in this world now, is that right?" LaShawn said with a chuckle. "And the fact that you brought this little hillbilly protégé of yours tells me this ain't a social visit."

"First of all, I ain't no protege," LaSalle said. "I'm the second highest ranking agents after King here. Also, hillbillies by definition come from the hills and I'm from Mobile. I might be a redneck, maybe halfway coonass by now given all that time in the bayou with Pride here, but at least get your slurs straight." LaSalle said back with a satisfied look on his face. Whether a coonass was a subset of redneck was a debate for another day.

LaShawn ignored the comeback. "Yo Moe! Grab these fellas a cold one, will you? Get Dwayne Pride here a Dixie. Guess Mr. Roll Tide here can get a Bud or whatever. T! Git cho black ass back to work, ya hear?"

"Sure thing, dad," CJ replied as he went into the cooler, grabbing a bottle of locally brewed Dixie beer and a Bud Light. LaShawn sat down on one of the tables next to a large window with a view of the former gas station outside. Seating was limited here since most of the sales were to go and they wanted to keep it that way.

"You want me to keep on an on for you, boss?" another gangster youth said, walking toward the NCIS agents menacingly in a ghetto swagger.

"It's fine, T Dawg," LaShawn said. "Mr. Dwayne and I are very old friends. Like I said, go finish the work I assigned you or you ain't getting paid for it."

"Acquaintances," Pride corrected him, "But I've known him since you were in diapers."

"Anyway, go double check on that shit over in Gretna. I'm tired of those guys playing games with me," he said.

"You got it boss," the other man said, adjusting his black doo rag as he shoved the door open and swaggered out of the store in his baggy pants.

"So, what's with this new nickname? CJ sounds more tough, don't it?" LaSalle said. "I've heard some things about you on the way here."

"It's what they called me at Dixon," he said, referring to the Dixon Correctional Institute in Jackson, Louisiana where he had served four years for possession of drugs with the intent to distribute and resisting arrest after leading NOPD officers on a long foot chase through the Lower Ninth Ward. He was eventually paroled on good behavior.

"His love for a particular Mexican place that I don't particularly care for" referring to Moe's Southwestern Grill, but guess that's what was in the vicinity every time he could get food delivered. Yeah, a New Orleans nigger who likes black beans over red beans. Lawd."

"If I had to do chain Mexican, I'd stick with Chipotle," LaSalle said. It wasn't even his intention but turns out he was "bad cop" for this meeting.

"Now y'all probably wondering, why would CJ here still go by that name he got in prison, now that he's back on the streets. Tell these badge wearing gentlemen why, son."

CJ nodded. "Cause I want to be done with the street life. And this thing about prison, it serves as a reminder that I was there, so I don't go back there."

"You see, Dwayne," LaShawn said to Pride, "C.J. here is now a sophomore at Dillard University. I got no problem with people trying to, how you white folks like to put it, to better themselves. I got no problem with anyone trying to get our kids out of this life."

"You're talking about Prescott, aren't you?" LaSalle said.

LaShawn nodded. "See I know the real reason why you came to see me. You think I have something to do with his murder."

"I never told you he was murdered." Alarm bells rang out in Pride's head.

"Word travels even faster on the street than it did in your days, Pride, all this social media. What, you think he had some fishing accident?" LaShawn chuckled again.

"Well _do _you know anything about what might have happened to Eddie Prescott?" Pride asked. "Or any of your people? Your lieutenants? Others on the street?"

"Can't help you there, Pride, I'm sorry."

"You may want a better life for your own son here," Pride said, "But you and I both know you may not want that for everyone, certainly not in your old neighborhood. Because otherwise, you wouldn't have any muscle to hold down the street corners, no couriers to drive your stuff across to the Northshore, …"

"Trust me, good ol' Mr. Prescott can only do so much. There will always be plenty of kids in the hood doing stuff that you don't approve of. Maybe some of them work for me, maybe they don't. In any case, you've never proven that _I _haven't always been on the up and up."

"Don't you be threatening my old man. You may be a cop and all but…." CJ said, approaching with a hostile look on his face.

"Federal agents," LaSalle said.

"Same bullshit."

LaShawn held his hand up. "I swear that I've got nothing to do with this. You know that above all, I'm a man of my community, and Prescott was a respected figure in the community."

"Well given your immense respect for Mr. Prescott, and your obvious sadness as his demise, I imagine you will contact me if you hear anything," Pride said, getting up and handing out his business card.

"New cards, huh?" LaShawn smiled. "Not as spiffy as the NOPD ones."

"Washington issued," Pride said with a grin, "We all know they don't have the kind of flair we do here in New Orleans. But yes, call you anytime."

JEFFERSON PARISH CORONER'S OFFICE

Even though the city of New Orleans was coterminous with Orleans Parish, NCIS had a special arrangement with Jefferson Parish instead, specifically Dr. Wade's crime lab in Metairie. Wade and Sebastian dialed into the videoconference while the rest of the team was at the NCIS office.

"How are you, Miss Loretta? Honestly wasn't expecting the results _this _quick," Pride said.

"That's because our killer is professional but sloppy," Wade said.

"Interesting. Please enlighten us," Pride said.

Wade pointed to the body on the autopsy table. "As you can see, once we get past the decomposition, it's clear that Lieutenant Prescott was killed by a bullet to the back of the head, specifically a 9 mm round. So far, we know from the low levels of stress hormones released into his body that his killer most likely surprised him, rather than this being a execution-style murder."

"Whoever did this must have thought they covered their tracks enough, just dumping the body into the river?"

"Look at these marks on the victim's ankles," Wade said, drawing attention with her laser pointer. "The killer tried to weigh him down. Sebastian here may have some insight as to with what."

Sebastian pulled up some molecular diagrams on his computer and displayed it on the big screen for the team.

"In simple English, please Sebastian," Gregorio said began Sebastian even began.

"Okay, ummm, I work better when there's not so much pressure from…."

"Just tell us what you found," Pride said patiently, giving Gregorio a "cut it with that attitude" look.

"So, yes, in plain English, the residue found on the victim's skin includes industrial solvents found in petrochemical processing, which leads me to believe the murder took place on one of the industrial properties close to where the body was found. And we do know now that Prescott was involved with certain manufacturing companies."

"Garner Plastics is one of the largest employers in South Louisiana, with a lot of political clout in both parties. We need more than a hunch to go on site and start asking questions," LaSalle informed them.

"Maybe an informal inquiry, we might be able to make that work," Pride said. "But Loretta, you have something else, I can tell."

"I believe our killer might be familiar with our area , but without much personal experience. He knows that river currents as strong as the ones in the Mississippi can keep a body submerged for months, even years. But that's just natural river currents. It didn't occur to him that the wake from all that commercial ship traffic would churn the waters enough that he would wash up on that part of the levee."

"Hmmm, a professional assassin from out of town," Sonja said. The mystery certainly was deepening.

"Okay, team, we need to review all the guys that have made threats against Prescott so far, notice any discrepancies, anyone showing up that isn't usually there. Patton, see if you can review the Internet traffic and also the security cams and NOPD and FBI database on the Islamic terrorist groups and the Antifa people who had threatened him online or sent hate mail. In fact when we pay those guys at Tulane a visit we need to get access to their security systems."


	3. Extracurricular Homicide Part 3

_Author's Note - The recommended guest stars listed in intermediate chapters are just ones that I thought about since publishing the original cast. They may not necessarily appear in THIS episode but they do appear in other episodes. _

GUEST STARRING

Jessica Rothe - Nicole LaPrairie

SEVERAL HOURS LATERS – NCIS OFFICE

"Is Garner Plastics linked to the Garner crime family?" Gregorio asked.

Everyone else shook their head. "Not related at all. Oh yeah, I remember, you ain't from around here."

Gregorio gave him a nasty look. LaSalle was usually not like that but her arrogant New York personality was definitely getting to all of them.

"Pride, Patton and I did look into Garner Plastics and got something and this could be big, concerns both Eddie Prescott and our wonderful principal, Mr. Thomassie," LaSalle continued, addressing the entire team now.

"Let's hear it," said Pride, hopefully they were getting closer to a breakthrough. He was still driving through the streets of Algiers, heading to the Marine Reserve base in the Federal City division of the district, named for the military presence there.

"Thomassie did have a point back there," LaSalle said, "About how he thought Prescott was wasting his degree and talents being a simple high school teacher, at an inner city school of all places." LaSalle nodded at Patton, who pulled up several financial records on the big screen and also sent them to Pride's phone.

"I'm not saying Prescott is dirty, or he wasn't a hero, but he ain't as squeaky clean as he first came across," Patton said. "He did recently purchase and was planning to remodel and expand a new home on the Metairie lakefront. He also spent a week on Hawaii's Big Island, where he and a woman we're still trying to identify stayed at an exclusive resort and chartered a private helicopter tour over Volcanoes National Park. Yes, all on a New Orleans Public Schools salary."

He clicked his pointer some more. "Turns out there's been several secretive wire transfers into his Regions Bank account, coming from an offshore account in Bermuda. And guess what, after hacking into several of the wire transfers in and out of Bermuda, those funds come directly from Garner Plastics LLC in Darrow."

"We need to look further into this. But what about Thomassie?"

"Plenty of bad blood between him and Garner Plastics. Thomassie was a union boss in the National Federation of Teachers local chapter. That union threatened staff walkouts several times last year in order to protest the state industrial property tax exemption for Garner Plastics's facility expansion in Clearwater. Thomassie has written a number of guest columns in the _Times-Picayune _ranting about how these extra property taxes should be going to public schools. In fact, in one of these articles Thomassie complained about his own salary and wrote some self-agrandizing bullcrap about how only his love for marginalized city kids is keeping him from working at a private school. Oh yeah, and the fact that Garner Plastics donated a lot of money to a candidate supporting charter schools doesn't help. Garner hates how charter schools like to be in contact with industry to see what kind of skills tomorrow's employers are looking for."

"As if he's qualified to teach at a private school," Gregorio said.

MARINE RESERVE BASE, ALGIERS NEIGHBORHOOD

"Keep the focus on the high school too," Pride said, "We're going to continue monitoring the traffic out of New Orleans area mosques since there's been a few new threats regarding the Iraqi operation. But we need to keep all the possibilities open." He didn't need to mention that a young Muslim immigrant or left wing activist who heard rumors about Prescott's involvement in Middle East and vents hardly means there's a terrorist conspiracy targeting veterans on American soil.

"Agent Pride, Captain Bednarik is ready to see you," a young Marine officer said, ushering Pride into a well apportioned office overlooking a courtyard filled with two live oak trees draped in Spanish moss. Even this base had the character of the Deep South. Bednarik was Prescott's direct superior in the US Marine Corps.

"You had mentioned there were a number of threats made? By the way, we are on speaker with my team back at NCIS New Orleans headquarters."

Bednark nodded and presented a stack of materials.

"So why wasn't I told of this?" Pride asked, looking at transcripts of various voicemails and hate emails sent to Prescott's Facebook accounts. "You had only previously informed NCIS and local police about you looking for terrorist chatter from the Middle East. A lot of these are domestic, even local."

"I thought you we're looking at threats coming from the Iraq mission."

"What about other ops he was involved in?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The mission that pissed a lot of these left wing radicals, the…."

"You and I both know people like Antifa have a soft spot in their hearts for anti-American terrorists, including Muslim jihadists."

"It specifically refers to what Prescott allegedly did 'down there'? Somewhere in Latin America? We talking about an anti-narcotics operation against the cartels? Something off the books?"

"All that's compartmentalized, you know that. And you know you don't have the security clearance necessary." The captain as much as admitted something was up.

"I hate to do it this way, but we're pressed for time as these threats are escalating and other American veterans may be in danger. Either you decompartmentalize it, or I can place one phone call to NCIS headquarters and have them order you to decompartmentalize it, and ask you to explain why you wasted my time in a major federal investigation. You see, I hate it when people play these games with me."

Captain Bednarik sighed. "The last month before Prescott left active duty for the reserves, his unit was involved in a classified operation in Venezuela during the worst of the political crisis there."

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Pride.

Bednarik continued. "Before President Maduro cut diplomatic ties with the United States and expelled our entire embassy staff, Prescott and several other Marines from his command were sent to Caracas to boost up the Marine embassy detachment there, especially since Maduro had invited Russian and Chinese military advisors into Venezuela. Complete chaos down there, you know that. Maduro's left wing goons from the Venezuelan National Guard massacring unarmed protesters in the streets. People so hungry they broke into the zoo and ate the animals there."

President Nicholas Maduro was the socialist, rabidly anti-American dictator propped up by generous amounts of financial and diplomatic support from China and Russia as well as by shadowy international donors. He was the protégé of the infamous late Hugo Chavez and has continued to chart the same failed, destructive socialist path that Chavez had began.

"So you're saying Prescott led an off-the books op in Venezuela, fought an engagement with Maduro's soldiers?"

"No, it was cleared by the Joint Chiefs themselves. Several embassy workers were in the city of Maracaibo meeting with opposition leaders when Maduro ordered an operation to capture these very opponents. Obviously several of these staffers worked for Langley and we couldn't let them fall into Maduro's hands. Especially as these regime forces were being directed by Russian advisers, so Prescott led a last minute operation into western Venezuela that rescued our embassy staff but resulted in the deaths of 25 Venezuelan soldiers. 5 civilians were also killed by a Venezuelan National Guard helicopter before Prescott shot it down."

"Let me guess, people blame that on us too?"

"What else would you expect?" Pride said wryly. "They said the American imperialists forced the confrontation that those deaths resulted from."

"But that was never officially even mentioned on the news, not even in Venezuela's own state-owned propaganda media nor by the mainstream media here in the U.S. which would jump at any chance to make our military or law enforcement look bad," said LaSalle.

"Saves them the embarrassment," Pride conjectured, "With all of their new Chinese and Russian supplied equipment including new radar systems, attack helicopters and machine guns they can't defeat a small team of Marines who were simply there to protect our embassy."

"The underground media, however," Patton spoke up, "Has been crawling with chatter. Much more so than with the Muslim terrorist angle though those threats are starting to come in as well. As badly as Prescott is hated in the Middle East, if this is about his past operations as an active-duty Marine, I'd say what happened in Venezuela is clearly the key."

"I'm sure you have some specific individuals in mind?" Pride ask.

"Sure do," Patton replied proudly. He pulled up a suspect's face onto the screen. It showed a young, hip looking college student with a New York driver's license and a Tulane University student ID. "This is Shane Rappaport, originally from Westchester County, New York. He's a biology and political science major at Tulane. Also a major campus agitator. He worked for the Dyson Pitts re-election campaign."

Congressman Dyson Pitts was a black Democrat from the Lower Ninth Ward. The only Democrat in Louisiana's Congressional delegation, he represented the 2nd Congressional district for the U.S. House of Representatives. His district included a large swath of New Orleans and Baton Rouge's most troubled inner city communities as well as a number of smaller river towns and working class suburban areas.

He had begun his long Washington career as a moderate Democrat that reflected his predominantly black inner-city constituency, but as the national party had shifted leftward, so had he. Pitts now described himself as a democratic socialist and had been endorsed by the upper echelons of the national party as well as a number of Hollywood celebrities and by the national media. The intensification of racial politics has also helped him cement his support among some elements of the inner city constituency while the liberal elites filled his coffers with cash.

"Shane Rappaport was also one of the leaders of the local Antifa movement here in New Orleans. He was arrested last year in Laredo, Texas for damaging property during an anti-Border Patrol protest organized by Antifa." The screen now showed a video of Shane picking up a garbage can and throwing it into the lobby of an office building, shattering a large pane of glass. There was another picture of Shane and other protesters setting fire to an ICE vehicle while holding placards supporting illegal immigrants during a violent protest on the Tex-Mex border at Laredo.

"Sebastian and Gregorio, go pay them a visit," Pride ordered. "I'm sure you'll be able to blend in on a college campus better than me. I seem to scream cop or Fed wherever I go."

"Yeah, I know Sebastian has that nerdy look and all, but I…." Sonja began.

"C'mon, Gregorio," Sebastian said, "Let's go. Plus I AM familiar with that campus, I have several friends from there who play….."

"I'm setting up the meeting right now, putting the fear of NCIS in him so that he cooperates in setting up this meeting. You two can talk about the online gaming scene at Tulane on the way there."

Pride then hung up the phone and looked at Bednarik. "Captain, I trust if you hear anything else, I'll be the first to know." He turned around and walked away before the other man had a stance to respond.

TULANE UNIVERSITY

Shane Rappaport haughtily strolled into the main offices of Tulane University's sociology department, barely acknowledging the office assistant as he went into the corridor lined with professors' private offices. Pride looked at the security camera footage, already disliking the privileged college student for his smugness and arrogance. After all, he was already well known in the sociology department, where many people were engaged in the same activism that he was. Plus that was the typical Yankee attitude so many from Tulane's wealthy disproportionately East Coast student body demonstrated.

"Professor Dalby," Shane said, walking into the door, yet was taken aback when he found the professor's desk was empty. Suddenly, the door closed behind him and Sebastian and Gregorio were there.

"What the….where's Professor Dalby, and who are…"

"I'm Agent Lund, and this is Agent Gregorio, NCIS."

"Oh the feds," Shane said with a smile. "I love this."

"Love this?" Gregorio asked with a surprised, incredulous look on her face.

"I love how you guys set this meeting up by the way, nice and discreet. Unlike the pigs working for Louisiana State Police. I've always had a positive opinion on the Feds. Except ICE and the Border Patrol, of course. But the FBI really showed a bunch of guts at Waco teaching those loonies a lesson. See Bill Clinton knew what's up." He was referring to the infamous Waco Massacre in Texas 1993 in which FBI and ATF agents in tanks armored vehicles ended a standoff with a religious sect by setting their compound ablaze with flamethrowers, killing dozens of unarmed women and children. In the mind of people like Shane Rappaport, anyone who opposed the federal government and deserved such a fate.

This actually made sense to Gregorio. Many left wing radicals hated local law enforcement and major corporations, but for some reason were big fans of the federal government. But more so the Washington bureaucracy than a semi-independent outfit like the NCIS New Orleans office.

"I like you already, Agent Gregorio," Shane said, "You must be an inspiration to so many women, being so strong and confident like you obviously are and doing your kind of work. You're here about the complaints I've made against the state police actions during our last protest?" Shane asked.

Gregorio shook her head. "No, we're here about the threats that _you _made against Eddie Prescott."

"I was exercising my free speech rights," Shane said.

"No, you dumbass," Gregorio said. "You made direct threats, and you did it while logged into a computer at the campus library. Campus police showed us the security camera of you sitting at that computer the comment these threats were posted about the mission in Venezuela. We'll save the question of how you gained access to info on classified military operations for another time."

"Then why am I not in jail now being tortured like the prisoners at Abu Graib?"

"Because we want to know how you came about this classified information. How does a campus activist, even an Antifa leader with national connections, learn about Prescott's off the books ops in Venezuela?"

"Are you going to arrest me? Because if so, I demand to call my family attorney. And I assure you, he's a _very _good lawyer."

"No, you're not being arrested, but the thing about the Internet these days, even if the national media is sympathetic to you," Sebastian told Shane, "Stuff still goes viral. How would your parents feel if they saw that you were making death threats against a decorated veteran and a major community figure?"

"I believe the things I do because of how they raised me!" Shane said, almost yelling, his eyes wide with passion. "I grew up with progressive values, and my dad will support me if you try to do anything to me."

"Ah yes," Gregorio said, "You see I'm from New York. I know exactly what kind of people your parents are. You don't care what some hicks and rednecks on the Internet think about you, but what would they think if you never graduated from college, let alone become a rich doctor like I've been told you want to be? If you ended up like those people you look down on?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Shane said. "The campus administration knows my criminal record from my protests, they don't care."

"As powerful as your family may be politically, the military is more powerful. The fact that one of their students was given classified information, and made threats while on campus property regarding this info, the Navy will see to it that you're expelled. And you only got into this school because of your family's donations and financial clout. Good luck getting your degree anywhere else."

Shane remained silent for a while.

"Yeah, think that one through buddy," Gregorio said in her tough voice.

"I…fuck!" Shane cursed, banging his hands on the table. He was certainly no genius, but it was clear even to him that NCIS got him this time. If he was expelled from college, that would make him a useless failure to his family and to all his peers in the East Coast liberal elite bubble. "I got it from an activist from UT-Austin, who said he was also at that protest on the Mexican border."

"You have his name? Where we might be able to find him?" Sebastian demanded.

"His name was Josef Blakjovic. He said he was an international student from the Czech Republic. He made contact with me like two days ago."

"How?"

"In our meeting on campus! I….I really don't know how to contact him. He doesn't have a Facebook because that can be tracked too easily. But he goes to Texas! You can check their files."

"So you and Josef Blakjovic were instrumental in the riots in Laredo at the ICE facility? That's when you first met this person?"

"No! I don't remember seeing him there, there were activists from all over Texas and from around the country there to support immigrant rights!" he said, leaving out the word "illegal". "I don't remember meeting him there, but he goes to UT!"

"See, we're making good progress so far," Gregorio said, maintaining the pressure on the radical student leader. She wanted to wring his arrogant, privileged, misguided little neck but this was official duty, and she was still an NCIS agent. "We're going to take a walk down to the security office and review the cameras of the student union the day of the meeting. You better point out Josef Blakjovic to me."

"What….what if he wasn't captured on camera?"

"You better hope he was, or you're fucked," Gregorio said.


	4. Extracurricular Homicide Part 4

_Author's Note - Like almost all of you, I was very disappointed in the last episode. Needless to say, like my idea for this story started somewhere in seasons 3 and 4 so Christopher LaSalle's not going anywhere! I WILL drive an alternative goodbye to LaSalle that's much more fitting than how the show ended his character arc. But for now here's the next update. _

NCIS OFFICE

"Pride! I got a lead on the mystery woman Prescott went to Hawaii with. And it's definitely a solid lead"

"Already? I thought you needed a warrant for State Police to deal with the DMV," said Gregorio.

"Nah, dealing with the DMV, I gotta wait till the cows come home just for their website to load when I'm renewing my overpriced vehicle registration," Patton said. "Of course I used a back way online, just don't ask me how. Plausible deniability, like they say."

"Fair enough. What did you find?" At first, Pride was concerned about Patton's hacking, just in case he got caught, regardless of how important certain investigations may be. But he's since learned that Patton was good enough to never be caught.

"Her name is Kelly Ann Matthews of Burnside, Louisiana, a mere three miles from the Garner Plastics plant. I confirmed it with security camera footage from the lobby of the Sheraton Kona Resort. She works for Falcon Security, which sure enough has a contract to provide on-site security with Garner Plastics. This must be where she met Prescott, so Prescott must be spending a lot more time at the facility than we had assumed. Also, this also has implications for Prescott's finances as he indeed pay for almost all their expenses on the trip. The only times Matthews's credit card was used was at a gas station outside Volcanoes National Park where she bought two packs of Marlboro Menthol Lights and at a souvenir shop in South Point plus a few drinks at the hotel bar."

"Excellent work. We need to follow up with the security company _and _finally pay Garner Plastics a visit."

"One more thing about Garner Plastics," Sonja said. "That part of corporate America isn't even American anymore. Six months ago, Garner Plastics was acquired in a backroom deal by Wiesbaden Polymers, a multi-national company based in Germany despite heavy opposition. There were serious concerns about one of the largest locally owned companies in the Gulf South falling into foreign control. A parish councilman who led the opposition to the deal resigned for personal reasons after his wife died of a previously undiagnosed medical condition."

"Very convenient indeed," Pride said frowning.

"I know we'll be paying the facility a visit soon, but has LaShawn contacted you yet with the word on the street?" LaSalle asked.

"Yeah, what's this history between you and him?" Gregorio asked.

"LaShawn is suspected of running one of the largest crime syndicates and drug crews in the state and his crew is now part of the Black Guerilla Family gang, with close association with the Baltimore chapter. The BGF has taken advantage of the lawlessness in Baltimore following the Freddie Gray riots and have grown increasingly powerful and have been trafficking drugs and guns into New Orleans. But of course none of that is proven."

Pride paused. "I've known Garner since my days at NOPD. He's always been one step ahead of us. Probably even more slick than Carlos Marcello." That was a reference to the Godfather of New Orleans, who ran a major Mafia family until he went to prison following an FBI investigation, though he eventually had his charges dismissed and retired peacefully in Metairie.

"And this man of the people thing?"

"He's extremely respected by people in the Lower Ninth and parts of Algiers," Pride said. "He considers himself a cross between Pablo Escobar and Vito Corleone, especially the loyalty that people in his community have for him."

"Escobar was a folk hero in Medellin. They called him the Robin Hood of Colombia because of his philanthropy and saw him as a leader opposing the corrupt elites" LaSalle remembered from his criminal justice classes at the University of Alabama. "His popular support was what hindered DEA and Colombian government efforts to bring him down."

"And that's exactly true for LaShawn Garner. Yes, he's a violent criminal but the BGE also owns many legitimate businesses that provide opportunities to the locals, and I'd say at least half the people in the Lower Ninth trust them more than they just the mayor's office or the police department. They got issues, they go to him, not NOPD. The BGE has also protected the neighborhood from illegal alien gangs at a time when NOPD isn't even allowed to collaborate with ICE."

"Patton, you look more into their other high ranking members?" Gregorio asked. "Maybe others within the organization are making their own moves, undermining LaShawn's authority."

Patton pulled up a picture of a man named Tre'Vonte Harris.

"That's our buddy at the quick mart today. Extensive criminal record obviously. Part of the muscle. He was put on trial for murdering a police informant six years ago, but the state had to release him after a witness in _that _trial was killed in a drive-by shooting."

"As for the transnational street gangs, what about MH-11 or MS-13?" Both of these were notorious Central American gangs with an increased presence in New Orleans, though the situation wasn't quite as bad as in some other major U.S. cities. "You think one of those gangs could be trying to strike fear into the local community before they make another attempt to establish a presence in New Orleans?"

"Not impossible, but unlikely," Pride decided. "If they were making a move, they would act against LaShawn's crew directly. "They're also more known for very brazen public attacks vs dumping a body in a river hoping nobody would find it." If anything, the Central American gangs and the Mexican cartels they allied with were known for dumping bodies on the streets to sow fear amongst their enemies. "No matter who did it, the fact that they tried to dispose of the body means they were _not _trying to send a message. Most likely something personal against Prescott or to cover up something bigger. We just need to find out what."

EN ROUTE TO NCIS

Gregorio sped onto St. Charles Avenue from Tulane's well-kept grounds, cutting in front of a streetcar dangerously close to the point that the conductor blared the horn at her, eliciting cheers from several of the tourists on board.

"Watch it, this isn't New York anymore, Gregorio, jeez," Sebastian said, unnerved by her aggressive driving.

Gregorio ignored him. "LaSalle, Pride," she said, dialing the office. "Any match yet?"

"No luck," Pride said, shaking his head. "We checked the student records from the University of Texas, nobody with the name Josef Blakjovic. I've reached out to the State Department so see if our embassy in Prague can contact the Czech police but I highly doubt that's going to go anywhere."

"Yeah something about this picture doesn't suggest he's just a college student, not even just a violent one," Gregorio said. "I have a bad feeling about this. Look at his eyes, the way he walked into that hall. I think our answers lie with whoever this person is."

WIESBADEN PLASTICS MANUFACTURING PLANT, DARROW, ASCENSION PARISH

It was like déjà vu, going back westbound once more past the Bonne Carre Spillway toward the petrochemical corridor. This time, they took the route through LaPlace and the giant Shell facility, which was brightly lit up by the natural gas burning into the darkening sky.

"Smells like home, right?" LaSalle joked to Gregorio who just glared at him. They continued for short while more through LaPlace, following the River Road from the other direction back toward Darrow and the sprawling former Garner Plastics facility, now owned by Wiesbaden Polymers. Perhaps for PR reasons, the large sign still read "Garner Plastics" but in small print, it did say "A Wiesbaden Subsidiary" and the new parent company's slogans in both German and English.

They pulled up to a large security gate, manned by officers from Falcon Security. The officer at the guard station looked at Pride.

"NCIS, Federal Agents, I'm Special Agent Pride."

"Nobody called ahead to say you were coming," the man replied, curious but not particularly hostile.

"It's an unannounced visit, we just want to talk to whoever dealt most with Eddie Prescott."

The guard nodded. "Quite a shame. He was here quite a bit actually, good guy, we're going to miss him. He and Kelly here were a thing too. Don't blame her, he can be a charmer."

_Just love it when people volunteer information_, Pride thought but didn't say out loud. "Would Kelly Ann Matthews be working now by any chance?"

"She's actually still taking a few days off to deal with the whole situation."

"Can't blame her," Pride said, making a mental note to pay Kelly a visit at home.

"She stays less than two miles from here," the guard said, offering more info. "A lot of her family works in this factory in various capacities, her connections actually got a small company like ours this contract. But anyway, here are your passes, they're ready for you in the main office building."

They drove deeper into the facility past several large storage tanks and webs of hissing industrial pipes belching out steam, though the many workers on site ignored them, probably assuming NCIS would be involved since Prescott was also in the Marine Reserves.

They pulled right in front of a modern low-rise office building where the local corporate offices were located. They were led by more security officers into a spacious lobby, then up an open staircase to the second floor, where the plant manager was waiting in his office.

Pride flashed his badge. "I'm Special Agent Dwayne Pride from the NCIS New Orleans office."

The man nodded and motioned for Pride and the rest of the team to enter. "I'm Donnie Cooke, plant manager here at Wiesbaden Polymers Darrow Operations."

"Oh, that's the name now, officially?"

"As of two months ago, yes. Now what brings a bunch of Navy investigators all the way up from New Orleans?"

"I'm sure you know one of your employees, Eddie Prescott, was found dead recently not far from this factory, and he happened to be in the Marine Reserves."

"I wasn't aware of that fact until they announced you were here to see me."

"Which fact? That he's in the Navy, or that he's dead?"

"Neither," Cooke replied. "You see, Prescott was never directly employed by Wiesbaden Polymers, nor before that by Garner Plastics. He was a liaison with local public schools, setting up internships for students. It's something our company has been promoting, more outreach with local school districts to encourage more local kids to join the industry, and to make sure schools and community colleges are always the most up to date on the skills that are most needed. Especially as we're continuing to expand our presence in this area."

"In that case he must be the most highly paid liaison ever," LaSalle retorted. "We've obtained financial records of deposits into the St. George Trust Bank in Bermuda."

"And how have you obtained this info given Bermuda's banking secrecy laws? I highly doubt they legally…."

"How we obtained this information is irrelevant," Pride said. "It only matters that we have it. My team finds things off the books, and does things off the books, and that's how we've been getting results for years."

Cooke sighed. "We brought him on as a consultant for a special research project, the details of which are propriety secrets, or I guess the business equivalent of classified, as you spooks might call it."

"We're law enforcement, not spies," LaSalle pointed out. "And now why would you bring someone like him in?"

"As you probably know, the acquisition of the Garner Plastics company by Wiesbaden Polymers has been very controversial here. People here in Louisiana don't seem to understand or appreciate the nature of our globalized economy, they see that our headquarters is now in Stuttgart rather than than Tchoupitoulas Street and making an unnecessary fuss out of it."

"When this money is flowing out to the other side of the world instead of staying in this community I'd say its worth a fuss," LaSalle interjected hotly.

"Anyway, because of this," Cooke said, "We've also found we couldn't trust many of the original experts employed by Garner Plastics. Recently one of them started working for a competing polymers company in South Carolina and we believe she divulged trade secrets, yet the courts both here and South Carolina refused to charge her claiming there's no evidence to back up our claims. We need someone from the outside, someone new, to engage in these consulting activities."

"And you pay him under the table, using a protected bank in Bermuda?"

"Prescott is among the best chemical experts we know," Cooke said, "And didn't wish for this to be known publicly, especially given the conflicts we've had with the teachers union over the industrial property tax exemptions. Now that's a conflict we inherited from Garner Plastics. Anyway, I'm not aware that any crime was committed. At least that's what my lawyer in Bermuda told me. Now is there anything else?"

"You know anything about Kelly Ann Matthews, who works security here on site? She and Prescott were a thing, apparently."

"Once again, security is provided by a separate company that we gave a contract to so I imagine they handle their own affairs. And besides, even if both Prescott and Matthews _did_ work for me, which they don't, I'm not into getting into the personal lives of these employees. We employ too many people for that even if I wanted to." He said that with a matter of pride, motioning back toward the sprawling industrial plant.

"Now I hope I've been as cooperative as possible," he said. "You should understand that the details of the project Mr. Prescott worked on are under legal secrecy."

"Yes, proprietary information, I get it." _Patton will be able to get to it, _Pride didn't add.

OUTSIDE OF DARROW, LOUISIANA

"Patton, what do we have on Kelly Ann Matthews?" Pride asked, driving back on River Road back in the direction toward New Orleans, though their destination was only a few miles from the polymers factory.

"Not anything particularly suspicious," Patton said, bringing everything from his screen onto Pride's iPad. "25 years old, born and raised in Ascension Parish. Been working part time at Falcon Security for a year and a half. Goes to school at River Parishes Community College in their vet tech program. Only criminal record is a DUI in Livingston Parish three years ago."

"So not particularly dangerous, though she's trained to shoot."

"Yes, Falcon has both armed and unarmed guards, someone in her position would undergo some additional training, but then the murder weapon isn't a firearm and its not much hand to hand combat training. Its unlikely she would have been able to restrain a combat Marine like Prescott and then murder him that way."

"We can't assume anything," Pride said. "But in any case, we have to find out exactly what she knows, given how close she was to our victim."

Pride drove further past a sleepy small town with only a non-branded gas station and convenience store then entered a rural landscape with live oak trees mixed with overgrown fields with flowering thistle, finally turning down a long dirt driveway. Toward the end of the driveway, there was a grassy lawn cut among the field and two trailers. A semi-official sign actually read Matthews Lane. One of those signs that was commonly found in the rural South.

Suddenly, the door to the trailer on the left opened and automatic weapons fire rang out.

"Shit, take cover!" Sonja said, hiding behind a parked vehicle.

A young man emerged in the doorway holding an AR-15 and sprayed several more rounds in their direction.

"This is NCIS!" LaSalle shouted, "Put your weapon down!"

"King, I'll take him out the moment I get a clear shot!" LaSalle said as Gregorio tried to flank their position.

"We need them alive if we're to get answers," Pride said.

"Fuck y'all!" the young man yelled, firing again. "You don't look like law enforcement to me! This is my fucking property and I stand my ground! Real cops would know that!"

"I'm going to toss over my badge! Just stop shooting!" Pride said. In their haste to enter the scene it didn't occur to them that they might have been identified as trespassers before even reaching the door. Whoever was here was paranoid, but didn't do anything illegal under Louisiana's castle doctrine. He hadn't actually introduced themselves as law enforcement.

Weapons fire rang out from another direction, past a grove of oak trees.

"We're Federal agents! NCIS! Naval Criminal Investigative Service!"

"Toss that badge over!" the man yelled from the trailer door.

Pride hurled his NCIS badge as hard as he could, the badge landing on the man's feet. He whistled to the other armed civilians in the area. "Hold your fire!"

"Put the weapon down!"

"You shoulda identified yourselves the moment you came onto our property!"

"We didn't know anyone was here! We were going to knock but you…"

"Like we should trust the fucking government!" the man yelled. "You people, the chemical plant, you all…"

"Just stay calm! I showed my badge _now_, so put down your weapon of you're under arrest. You're not under arrest yet, this was a misunderstanding, but if you don't put down that weapon, you _will _be commiting a crime."

This entire interaction was alien to Gregorio, coming from a state where the 2nd amendment might as well not exist.

"Okay!" Pride said, approaching the trailer, "I'm Special Agent Dwayne Pride from the NCIS New Orleans office, we're investigating the murder of Lieutenant Eddie Prescott whom I'm sure you know if you live next door to your sister Kelly Ann. We were coming to speak to her."

"She ain't here!" the man said suspiciously.

"Let me see some ID, son," Pride said. He had a drivers license identifying himself as Dennis Matthews. "You part of the family too, um, Dennis?"

"I'm her brother. Look, she took Eddie's death pretty hard, they were real close."

"It's my understanding they went to Hawaii together," Pride said. "They seemed happy?"

Dennis agreed to open the door to Kelly Ann's home, a much more spacious double wide. Gregorio looked down on trailers, but was pleasantly surprised when she walked in. The double wide had far more living space than the typical New York City apartment, with a large living room, 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, and a kitchen with the newest appliances.

"Yeah, I mean, Eddie was a cool guy, our family, we all loved him. We have no idea who would do something like this, hence us even more defensive than usual," Dennis said. "You check with the plant? That's where they met, she worked security there and he was there a lot visiting the site, that's how they met."

"They couldn't give us much information," LaSalle replied. "But we do need you to think carefully, and I'm sorry for having to ask this question. Did Kelly and Eddie have any problems?"

They looked around Kelly's bedroom, which had several pictures of her and Eddie together, looking perfectly happy.

"You serious, man?" Dennis said, dumbfounded. "You honestly think she might have killed him? She would never do anything like that. And like I said she was in love! They had no relationship issues of any kind! We….we were glad that she was able to find someone like him."

"Obviously we'd like to talk to Kelly ourselves. Did she mention where she went?"

"No, she just needed some time alone, she said. She left her daughter with our mother in Port Vincent, said she was going to her friend's in Denham Springs but never showed up. I….we really need to give her some space, this is very difficult for her to deal with."

"Is there anything else you can remember, about the factory, anything that happened there? Did Eddie have any enemies?"

Dennis shook his head, then paused. "She…..she did have this bag once that I saw when I went in her place to borrow some tools. Some kind of chemical kit, she just said she was going to take it to the animal hospital to test some samples, but some of the equipment in there was from the plant. She said she was borrowing it for a research project they were working on….now it sounds kinda weird. You think Eddie might not be as innocent as she thought? Maybe he's using her access to the factory to steal materials?"

"How can that be linked to her being in a vet tech program?" Pride's mind was spinning. Did Prescott really do this much research on her to target Kelly? But then he didn't have to spend all this money with her, even taking her to Hawaii. Things were still not adding up.

"The animal hospital is part of a larger research facility with all kinds of labs, so I don't know. But I really haven't been able to get in touch with Kelly. I hope y'all do find her and that she's alright."

NCIS OFFICE

"Gregorio! Patton!" Pride said, strolling into the NCIS office with several takeaway boxes from Galatoire's restaurant, including their delicious Oysters Rockefeller, which some people swear taste better than the original ones from Antoine's. "You mentioned y'all were going to do a cross check on any possible individuals with links to all of these factions that have been threatening Lieutenant Prescott?"

Patton beamed as he looked up from his computer screen. "That's like child's play for Triple P." He displayed a large image of a New Jersey driver's license with the name James Richards on it, then the same face on a number of foreign passports with different aliases. Finally, it showed a German passport with the name Franz Guttmacher on it. "I backtracked the security camera footage and he was also seen entering LaRose Liquors in Westwego, and LaShawn Garner's vehicle was parked in the lot during this time so its safe to say they met too. Though I did have to hack into the German government's intelligence databases given he's one of their former agents. This is all coming together given that Garner Plastics is really Wiesbaden Polymers now, and the Germans own all that shit."

"On the record I did recommend against that," Gregorio blurted out, "If there's an international incident Patton here is alone responsible."

"Nah, if the Germans make a big deal out of this, they'll have to admit their so-called German engineered secure software is even less secure than Hillary Clinton's e-mail server! And they'll also have to admit their own former trained agents are up to no good."

"So what did you find?" Pride asked. "This guy is the link behind all these threats, perhaps he has his own agenda against Prescott?"

"Guess what?" Gregorio said. "My connections in FBI worked out and got us access to our own American counterintelligence databases and we were able to confirm the match that Mr. Plame found."

"Triple P is the name," Patton corrected her.

She rolled her eyes and pulled up the picture of the German on the screen. "His real name is Franz Guttmacher, a former agent of the BND, Germany's foreign intelligence agency. He was fired for insubordination after he disobeyed direct orders during an operation in Iran, causing three of his fellow agents to be captured and tortured to death by the Iranians."

"Surprised he didn't go to prison for something like that," Percy said. "I mean we've all gone against protocol and even orders sometimes but we were always right."

"Lucky for Guttmacher, several European corporations wanted someone with his skill set and experience, and he's been freelancing as an industrial spy for years. According to MI6, there's suspicions that a consortium of German companies including Wiesbaden Polymers helped pay for his defense. He was defended by one of Berlin's most prominent trial lawyers. He's worked for several rival entities but one of the few he's never gone against is Wiesbaden Polymers.

"Industrial espionage, yes, but murder?" LaSalle asked. "Isn't that a jump?"

"His file doesn't indicate he's carried out any assassinations before the attempted hit on the Iranian nuclear scientist that ruined his team."

"But he's highly trained in those skills even if he hasn't officially used them," Pride concluded, "And Guttmacher's desperate to prove himself to his new employers after his failure working for the German government."

"Additionally," Gregorio pointed out, "Guttmacher was especially known for planning false flag operations among the various Islamic terrorist groups in the Middle East, including the car bombing outside the radical Sunni mosque in Aleppo, Syria that was attributed to Hezbollah."

"Keep them on their toes. The more they're fighting amongst themselves, the less they're planning attacks against the West," LaSalle theorized.

"So we know if Guttmacher has a typical MO?"

"I've done a deep dive and haven't been able to find something that specific," Patton replied. "He's a professionally trained assassin. I've tried to backtrack his travel patterns – airline tickets, hotel reservations, border crossings – he's not had a single confirmed kill since he left the BND. Except for one in St. Clairsville, Ohio."

"International assassin shows up to kill someone in the middle of rural Ohio?" LaSalle remarked.

"I'm going to have to work my contacts on that one," Sonja said.

"Do we have any idea where Franz Guttmacher is currently?" Pride asked.

"Of course," Patton said. "You know we always come to you prepared, King."

"Well, continue," said Pride with anticipation.

"Well, once we found out Guttmacher's identity, we knew he'd be travelling under fake alias so we used facial recognition software and placed into a program mixed with such alias. He's traveling under the fake identity of Neil Tyler, a Scottish businessman. He used that identity to check into the Marriott Lakefront Hotel in Metairie. Room 2419. He also used that identity to rent a Nissan sedan shortly after his arrival in New Orleans."

Patton displayed a security camera image onto the large screen. "Still parked at that very hotel."

"Good work," Pride said, "Let's move out."

NEW LIFE MEDICAL CLINIC, PATASKALA, OHIO, 15 MILES EAST OF COLUMBUS

This was one of the quickest doctor's visits in Meredith Brody's life, and that was a problem. And right now, she wasn't even Meredith Brody, she thought as she sat down in front of the middle aged doctor.

"You must be Dr. Sarodia," she said with a smile. "My friend from class told me about you, said you be able to help me, no questions asked."

"What is it that you need, Miss Ross?" Dr. Ankur Sarodia asked, glancing at his computer to look at the electronic intake form his patient had filled out. Her fake background story was that she was a nontraditional student who was having trouble adjusting to the new workload after transferring to Ohio State University from community college, and also had to balance a job and two kids.

"My regular doctor won't give me a prescription for Adderall or Vyvanse because I don't officially have ADHD. But I've got 3 midterms on the same day and the bartender that usually picks up my shifts is in Cozumel right now. If I don't pass these tests I'm fucked. These meds got me through finals last semester."

Dr. Sarodia nodded, even though his medical specialty was neurology and had nothing to do with ADHD. "I will write you a prescription for Vyvanse 70 miligrams. And if you pay me an extra $150 I will write another one dated for a month from now, when you'll be studying for your finals. Unless you prefer Ritalin?"

"That would be awesome! Thank you so much! And Adderall's totally fine!" Brody said in a perky voice. "Can you send them electronically to the Walgreens on Waggoner and East Broad? Or to Jack's Drugstore so it can be ready when I get there this evening?"

"No, they ask too many questions about the prescriptions I write even though it's not really their place to challenge me," Sarodia said as he wrote out two hard copy prescriptions, one for Vyvanse 70 mg and the other for Adderall 30 mg, both the highest available strengths available for these controlled substance medications. "Take these to Miller's Pharmacy. They're guaranteed to fill them. I have an understanding with them," Dr. Sarodia said, with a wink.

Brody nodded. "Thanks! You're a lifesaver."

She grabbed the prescriptions and walked out of the dingy looking clinic that stood as an eyesore in the well kept strip mall. This was an interesting change from the past two months which she spent in southern Ohio, pretending to be a washed up pillhead going to different pill mill pharmacies and doctor's offices, sometimes dropping off forged prescriptions.

Not there weren't quite a few obvious drug addicts right in this parking lot, some of them with license plates from Kentucky and Illinois, several hours drive away. New Life Medical Clinic, including Dr. Sarodia, was also on the DEA and local law enforcement's radar. The thing was, many of these unscrupulous doctors also knew that the police were paying attention to their activities, so Brody decided asking for an inappropriate prescription for ADHD drugs wouldn't attract as much attention from Sarodia than if she had asked for a narcotic pain medication like oxycodone or fentanyl.

Brody suddenly felt her purse vibrate and took her cell phone out of it. SONJA PERCY. It said. She felt a mix of emotions as she thought back to her final days in New Orleans and her old friend. But despite everything Pride and them had done for her, she still felt out of place and on the run, though at this point she wasn't even sure what she was escaping anymore.

She silenced the call and got in her car, pulling into the wide suburban commercial strip and approaching the on-ramp for Interstate 70 west toward Columbus. The phone rang again. The a text message. "Brody, I really do need your help with something. Please get back to me. Sonja."


	5. Extracurricular Homicide Part 5

_Author's Note - Sorry about the delay, been very busy lately. This segment of the story is turning out to be a lot longer than I expected though the finishing touches are coming along. About the suggested cast, some of them appear in the next episode instead as we will get more into Brody's new world as well. Obviously her world and Pride's will collide again toward the end of the series. Katie Stevens appeared on American Idol and several MTV shows but I cast her here based on her performance in the music video for How Not To with Dan and Shay. As mentioned in the beginning, the New Orleans storyline will be interspersed with Meredith Brody's story in her new job. The two storylines will converge and diverge repeatedly. _

GUEST STARRING

Cliff Curtis as Ettore Carozza

Tony Plana as Tommy DiMartino

Katie Stevens as Kellie Ann Matthews

MARRIOT METAIRIE LAKEFRONT HOTEL - METAIRIE

The team made sure their flashing lights were off as their vehicles turned off Metairie's Causeway Boulevard into the large parking complex attached to the large sprawling convention hotel property on the Lake Pontchartrain shoreline. Pride flashed his badge at the front desk as he went through the tastefully decorated modern lobby.

"He's in room 954," Pride said. "LaSalle, you and I are going to do some door knocking. Sonja, stay here in the lobby and watch the elevators. Gregorio, watch the perimeter."

The team acknowledged their instructions as Pride and LaSalle stepped into the elevator. The ninth floor elevator lobby and hallway were thankfully clear of any civilians at this time as Pride looked at the signage and pointed to the right in the direction of Room 954, one of the hotel's luxurious lakeview Jacuzzi suites.

LaSalle knocked on the door. "Mr. Franz Guttmacher! NCIS! Federal agents! Open up now! We have a warrant."

They were met with only silence. "Mr. Guttmacher, this is your final warning!" LaSalle shouted again. "We're coming in!"

Pride touched the keypad with the electronic key the hotel provided and slid open the door, both men entering a room that appeared empty, though there was a suitcase and other belongings on the floor and some half finished wine glasses on the table. Suddenly, they heard a bang and rushed forward, seeing that Guttmacher had kicked down the door to the adjacent room and was escaping through it.

"I've been compromised, I need extraction!" Guttmacher said quickly in German into a phone as he dashed down the hallway, knocking a housekeeper to the ground and trampling over her.

Their suspect was quicker than Pride and LaSalle had expected and was already at the end of the hallway, entering the stairwell that led down toward the swimming pool area.

"Gregorio! Sonja! He's at the east stairwell. He's making a run for it, he's heading down toward the pool."

"Got it!"

Guttmacher pushed past a room service waiter in the stairwell, sending plates of food crashing to the ground as he continued down, jumping down several landings and kicking open the door and emerging in the pool area. Sonja overrode the controls in an elevator as it descended rapidly back toward the mezzanine level where the pool and fitness center area was located, then ran down a long corridor for the pool.

Sonja saw Guttmacher exit the stairwell onto the pool deck and tackled him and the two slid across the slippery surface and into the hot tub. Sonja quickly grabbed Guttmacher by the neck and slammed his face under the water. She held it there for twenty seconds and his difficulty breathing added to the bubbles in the hot tub. Gregorio approached with her weapon drawn and yanked his head above water as Sonja maintained her hold on him. "Franz Guttmacher, you're coming with us back to NCIS. If you resist, I'll shoot you. Is that clear?"

"_Ja, ja, _I understand," the German said shakily.

Sonja made him stand up and put the cuffs on him. "Already off to a bad start. Got my hair all wet because you couldn't just come with us nicely. You know how long it took for me to do my hair this morning?"

Gregorio looked at her. "Only took me two minutes to do mine."

Sonja rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I can tell. I forgot you're not a Southern girl."

Gregorio was just about to say something back when Pride and LaSalle also entered the pool area with their weapon drawn. "Let's get our suspect to interrogation ASAP," Pride said.

NCIS INTERROGATION ROOM

Franz Guttmacher continued his haughty glare as Gregorio and Pride walked into the interrogation room and sat down.

"What is the meaning of this?" Guttmacher demanded in his thick German accent. "I am a foreign citizen from the European Union. You have no right to treat me this way. I demand to speak to the nearest German consulate at once."

"What's the matter, Herr Guttmacher? Why such the standoffish attitude? You pissed that our Andouille and boudin is so much better than that bratwurst crap back home?" LaSalle asked, trying to get under his skin.

"I demand to speak with the nearest German consulate immediately so they can provide me a lawyer," Guttmacher repeated himself, then added, looking at Pride, "Given you are already not very well liked in Washington, its probably best that you not be the cause of serious problems between our two countries."

Pride took a deep breath. "We haven't even really begun our conversation yet, and you're still acting more guilty than anyone we've ever dragged in here. Why is that, Herr Guttmacher?"

"I am not a fool, Special Agent Pride," Guttmacher replied. "Yes, I know you and your ways. I know you have no respect for rules, not even those of your own government, your own _agency._ So forgive me if I feel somewhat skeptical of your intentions. Besides I wouldn't be here if you didn't think I was guilty."

"You're being detained as a person of interest in the murder of Eddie Prescott, a US Navy Reserves sailor which of course makes it NCIS jurisdiction. We have power over the FBI, and as you should be the nearest German consulate is all the way in Houston, and they're closed now, so we got plenty of time"

"I have never heard the name Eddie Prescott before," the German scoffed.

"That's a lie," Gregorio replied, removing several photos of Guttmacher from her folder and scattering them on the table in front of him. The pictures showed Guttmacher walking into the building housing the Antifa offices, him talking to Little Willie's crew on an inner city street and parking his car in front of the Tlaib Hussein Mosque. "You want all these different, um, factions as you might put it, gunning for him and raising suspicions, when in the end its you yourself who killed him. So who really hired you for the job and why?"

"Do you have a warrant for these pictures? Again as a European citizen being detained on your soil I demand diplomatic representation from my country."

"Like I said, the German consulate is closed," Pride said wryly. "I wouldn't want to disturb the consul's staff unless its an emergency. We can keep you in this room until they open in the morning, and even then, I don't know what a lawyer can do to help you when you're not even being charged with a crime. At least not yet."

"Your consulate will not be notified," Pride said. "But you'll be spending the night here unless you start talking."

"The German government will notice my absence, and you will regret this, I swear, and my people have almost as many friends in Washington as we do in Berlin." Guttmacher said as Pride closed the door behind him.

RIVERFRONT STREETCAR LINE / INTERSTATE 70, OHIO - THE FOLLOWING MORNING

Sonja took out her phone as she walked down Esplanade Avenue toward the Mississippi River and the Elysian Fields streetcar stop, the final stop on the Riverfront Line. She had to scroll down for a bit before seeing Meredith Brody on her call history list. At least unlike the others on the NCIS team, she was the only one who had maintained contact with Brody after her quick departure from NCIS. Brody had finally reached out to Sonja after over a year. She had made Sonja promise she would say nothing to anyone else, particularly Pride, as she battled her personal demons after everything with John Russo and how her she blamed herself for almost taking the entire team down.

"Sonja?" Brody asked as he heard her ringtone, one of the jazz hits she had learned in New Orleans through Pride's bar. She grabbed her phone from the passenger seat.

"Hey! How you doing, girl?"

"On my way to work now, got a big meeting with the interagency task force this morning."

"So I'm guessing the investigation's going well?"

"Seems never ending, honestly. Drugs are still flooding into southern Ohio, though we might be bringing down on of the pill mill doctors pretty soon. Now I know what it was like for you posing as a junkie."

"_That's _what they had you do? Jeez!" Sonja said as she got on the streetcar, watching the muddy waters of the Mississippi River pass by.

"Yeah, going into all these small towns, and here in Columbus too. So what's up?"

Sonja was the only one that she had kept in touch with after her sudden departure from NCIS. She needed time off and booked a solo cruise to the Caribbean. One her final day at sea, sailing across the Gulf of Mexico, she had a breakdown and decided she couldn't face Pride again after what had happened with John Russo and how it almost brought the entire team down. Above all, she felt she wasn't at the top of her game anymore.

"I was actually thinking maybe you can help us look into a suspect that might have also been involved in a professional hit up there in Ohio, St. Clairsville to be exact."

"That's several hours from Columbus, in the other direction," Brody said, pretty sure Sonja wasn't that familiar with Midwest geography. St. Clairsville was all the way to the east, near the West Virginia state line. "But send me the info, I can see what we can do."

"I'm sending it now," Sonja said, switching screens on her phone. "But the victim was a lawyer in Cleveland with ties to the Carozza crime family by the name of Michael McAndrews, who closed his law firm several years ago. What he was doing in St. Clairsville is a mystery, but we believe he was killed by an international assassin who also killed a victim here in Louisiana that we're investigating. The former _consigliere _of the Cleveland Mafia paid the lawyer a visit the same day he was killed."

Sonja didn't mention any more specifics, as he didn't want Brody or any of her colleagues to jump to any possible conclusions.

"Michael McAndrews? That's one of the highest profile cold cases in the northern part of the state. There's rumors circulating that the mob put a hit on him but the Carozza family is defunct for all intents and purposes according. Ettore Carozza decided to live the quiet life after he got out of prison." Brody said as she merged onto Interstate 670 via a massive flyover interchange, heading toward Third Street, one of the exits leading into Columbus's downtown core. "You think they have connections in New Orleans?"

"Don't really know what to think, but hey, I'm at the old stop," Sonja said, getting off the streetcar near the French Market. Brody heard the mix of jazz musicians and brass bands that always played around there and had another whiff of nostalgia for the Big Easy, but knew that she wouldn't be going back anytime soon. This was her reality now. "So you like your new team?"

"Just very different than you and Pride and everyone down there," Brody said, "Thinking about New Orleans, it's still all like a dream to me, but one that just had to end." She stopped at a red light and glanced around at her surroundings. Here the streets were cleaner and better paved, and the buildings more modern, but it was New Orleans's many imperfections that gave it its charm and set it apart from the rest of the country, even from the rest of Louisiana.

"I'm sure you got some great people on your team. Columbus office's profile has become much higher given its coverage of the opioid crisis in the Tri-State area."

"I focus mainly on work, honestly, Sonja," Brody said. "With this task force, I feel caught in the middle. You go ten miles into the suburbs and the locals don't trust you, many of them downright hate the federal government, now imagine the small towns at the edge of the state. Even my own law enforcement partners seem to resent me. They think I'm just a government stiff like the people running the office."

"Oh, so you're like Agent Isler to them, I get it," Sonja said with a slight laugh. She truly missed seeing her old friend every day and strolling the charming streets of New Orleans together. "You'll manage to find your place, Brody, I know you always do! Now I know you don't want to talk about the past, but you need to open up to me sometime. I'm here for you, remember that."

"I know, Sonja. I know I'll never be able to repay you. Anyway, I just parked, need to get ready for my meeting."

"Hear from you soon," Sonja said, walking into NCIS herself.

DEA FIELD OFFICE, COLUMBUS, OHIO

Brody hung up the phone and began the walk across the parking lot to the Bricker Federal Building. If New Orleans was the city that stood out in the South, then maybe Columbus was the one that stood out in Ohio. In a state known for its crumbling Rust Belt factories, shuttered coal mines, and rolling cornfields, the capital was a sleek, modern city surrounded by the kinds of massive freeways, office parks, and planned suburban communities that would be more at home in the South or West.

"Who was that?" asked Ohio State Trooper Richard "Ricky" Parsons, who had followed her in his State Police SUV after spending the previous night at Brody's apartment that she got for the time she actually spent in Columbus, which wasn't that much considering most of the investigation was center in Ironton and nearby areas of far southern Ohio, a two and a half drive away. Instead of being kept awake by jazz musicians and brass bands, she had to contend with the noise coming from drunk neighbors hanging out at the swimming pool.

"An old friend from NCIS New Orleans," she replied.

"Cool, nice to see you still keep in touch with your old team. I'm still good buddies with some guys from Lawrence County, especially because of Amber," he said, referring to a fellow officer on their task force. "Still some of them resented me for going to state police, like I felt I was better than them."

"Well you gotta go where the opportunities are," Brody said.

"Guess that's what I've been doing. Remember I went down to Ironton cause that's the first place I would find an opening, now I'm back up in Columbus, but this work's bringing me down to Ironton again."

"What about you? I hear NCIS is a great outfit, and now you come back to the Midwest? Maybe you consider DEA a step up, I don't know." Parsons didn't like dealing with the Feds, but it was a necessary evil.

He didn't know much about this new hire from NCIS New Orleans. He didn't even think New Orleans had a large enough military presence to justify having an NCIS office at all. She came across as somewhat cold and arrogant but not extremely so, probably it's the Southern living rubbing off on her for a few years. Maybe it was just her personality. He didn't deny that she was somewhat attractive, but she was hard to read in his opinion.

As for Columbus, he had spent some wonderful years here at Ohio State but was glad to be working mostly back in his Appalachian hometown, among his own people. He did miss the urban excitement and cultural offerings of Columbus sometimes too though and it was nice to come up once in a while, though this was happening more and more often now with work, and with more suspected criminal links between the metro area and the rural hinterlands.

"Guess this is as close as I can get to home for now," Brody said. Parsons knew about her experience with the NCIS Chicago office. Prior to that she was originally from Akron in Northeast Ohio, so if this was her trying to home back home, it kinda made sense, though he always imagined New Orleans to be an amazing posting.

Brody had been back in Ohio for a little over a year now. She was the DEA's liaison in an interagency investigative task force involving both the Ohio State Police and several local county departments in southern Ohio, an area hit hard by the opioid crisis.

"Hey, been wondering where y'all were!" a young female officer in plainclothes said, jogging over from her Ford F150 pickup truck. Her accent sounded almost Southern, with a much stronger twang than many people Brody had encountered during her time in Louisiana.

"Hey Amber!" Parson said pleasantly. The young woman was Deputy Amber McKenna from the Lawrence County Sheriffs Office, her small department's representative on the task force. Barely 25 years old, she had just graduated from the police academy a year ago. She was following her dream of joining the law enforcement community in her hometown of Ironton, all the way on the Ohio River directly across from Eastern Kentucky in the heart of Appalachia.

Half the truck was covered in mud, evidence of a fun weekend back home in Lawrence County, where most of their investigation was based. "Off roading, I guess?" Brody said, trying to make conversation though Amber had always kept a distance from her. She greeted Parsons a lot more warmly with an excited smile.

"I wish! Was just watching some high school buddies of mine race on the dirt track. Parked a little close and the wind was really blowing!" As their made their way through the lobby and into the elevator, Amber showed them a video of her in a much more casual look, wearing a baseball cap with her hair tied in a ponytail, holding a 16 ounce can of Coors Light and wearing a sports jersey from South Point High School.

Brody could tell Amber wasn't even trying to hide that she only wanted to talk about the weekend with Ricky. This was an even tougher adjustment than going to New Orleans from NCIS Chicago. Down there, she had her guard up and took time to warm up to Pride and the other team's welcome. Here, she could sense the resentment toward her, and it didn't have so much to do with her personally, than with the fact that she represented the Feds, which was never popular in these parts.

Special Agent in Charge Ryan Church was short on pleasantries as he opened the meeting. He pulled up a list of doctors and pharmacies they were investigating as possible pill mills. "So anything new, people? Washington is impatient for results, and unless we give them something soon, they're threatening to dissolve our task force."

The meeting was also attended by Brody's direct superior, Special Agent Marcus Ramirez, who spent much more time in the office than in the field, and it seemed he preferred it this way.

Brody got up and displayed a map of the area falling under the jurisdiction of the Columbus DEA field office, stretching from the Columbus metropolitan area all the way down to the West Virginia and Kentucky borders, including most of Ohio's Appalachian counties. "We believe the primary heroin trafficking route into this region originates from Detroit and Chicago. Mexican drug cartels like the Sinaloa Cartel are contracting with urban gangs based up there to drive their product into the southern counties. At this current time, however, prescription narcotics are a much more prevalent issue."

Ricky continued the presentation. "In addition to the rural communities, we're seeing more of these pills being diverted right here in the Columbus area. But the main source remains pain management doctors scattered throughout our district, whom we believe are in cahoots with local criminal organizations. There are a number of suspected crime families whom we believe are in communication with pill mills. Brody here has taken the initiative to investigate one of these doctors on her own." He nodded at Brody and she stood up, walking to the front of the conference room. Parsons was a little warmer to Brody than Amber was, but still nothing like Pride or LaSalle.

"I believe I got something on Ankur Sarodia," Brody said. "His office is in Pataskala but is always flooded with patients who live three or four hours away. His official specialty is family medicine but he's the third highest prescriber of opioids in the entire state and many of his prescriptions are identical, over 100 tablets of Percocet, with diagnosis codes for unspecified pain disorders, loves prescribing Xanax as well. I got a judge in Licking County to sign off on a warrant for a quick undercover operation. Instead of doing the drug addict act like in Portsmouth I posed as a college student abusing ADHD controlled substances, which are DEA Schedule II drugs in the same category as narcotic pain medications."

She played the tape for everyone gathered in the room, including when Dr. Sarodia mentioned the pharmacy. "We do have Miller's Pharmacy on our radar, a lot of people from outside the immediate area also happen to use it though not to the extent of some of the pill mills right down there in Ironton."

"So we've proven Dr. Sarodia and Miller's Pharmacy are dirty, so what? So does this help us in looking at the big picture?"

Brody and even her colleagues looked at him incredulously. "That should be enough to take action against them."

"Yes, we'll take action against them, and notify the Board of Pharmacy as well, we may be able to get Miller's Pharmacy's controlled substance dispensing license suspended, if at that. We don't have them involved in any kind of conspiracy, Dr. Sarodia directing his illegitimate patients but it's not enough to shut that pharmacy down for good. Above all, that doesn't link either Sarodia nor the pharmacy to the opioid traffic heading into Lawrence County. And no, finding some of his prescription bottles down there doesn't exactly count."

"It should be enough to have Sarodia's medical license revoked, isn't it? That recorded conversation leaves no doubt about what's going on."

"So what are we going to do?" Church asked impatiently. "Arrest him for inappropriately writing an Adderall prescription, cut him a deal where he admits to being an accessory in narcotics trafficking?"

"That's when we also pursue the investigation from the Lawrence County end," Parsons spoke up, "But at least Ankur Sarodia's office will be closed and we'll have cut down on the amount of fraudulent and inappropriate prescriptions flooding the streets. And if the dealers start gravitating toward other doctors we can track that too. If anything, losing Sarodia will force the traffickers in Southern Ohio to rely more on local doctors again."

"But the main point is to target the traffickers," Church said. "If we go after the doctors and drug companies the pushback will be intense. What our media relations department in Washington wants is high-profile raids, not some boring hearing at the Board of Medicine in some flyover state"

"They also want a clear show of Federal power in rural America," Ramirez said "Optics are important. And our media relations department is in regular contact with CNN and the rest of the mainstream media."

"Basically you want to show them hillbillies down there whose in charge," Ricky said pointedly. "To you that's more important than arresting a sleazeball like Ankur Sarodia, at least keeping some of those drugs from killing people."

Ramirez threw his hands up. "I'm just saying what we're getting from DEA headquarters. Yes we'll get Sarodia's clinic shut down and track the drugs leaving from there, but this is only the beginning."

"Sir, with respect, I think it's a good start," Brody said.

Church was expressionless. "I need more than this, you people, and remember we have other cases besides Lawrence County."

BRICKER FEDERAL OFFICE BUILDING, COLUMBUS

"Sir, if you have a moment, there's one thing I'd like to talk to you about very quickly," Brody said, knocking on her supervisor's door later that day.

"Come on in," Special Agent in Charge Ryan Church said from his corner office with an enviable view of Columbus, including Ohio's unusual looking state capitol building, which seemed to be purposely missing its dome. "What is it?"

Church was the typical soulless yet smug federal bureaucrat and Washington stooge straight out of central casting, the polar opposite of Dwayne Pride. Brody had heard he hadn'In fact Brody found it impossible to picture Ryan Church outside his suit or anywhere outside work, except maybe sipping a fancy Frappuccino at Starbucks.

Brody quickly went through the request from NCIS New Orleans to look into the St. Clairsville murder.

"It's actually interesting that you mention that," Church said. "I'm looking through some of Deputy McKenna's notes, nothing presented at the official briefing since it's only hearsay and she was waiting for my approval to pursue it further, but according to police records in Lawrence County, a suspect claimed that some of the drugs he was apprehended with came from a group calling it the Carozza Outfit."

"The Mafia never had much of a presence in southern Ohio, if at all, and Cincinnati would be the closest crime family to Ironton. We've always thought the Mexican drug cartels were the major suppliers down there. They've carried out a number of high-profile killings in the area including that homestead massacre last year."

"Which is why I do want you to head up to Cleveland and have a word with Don Carozza. Cleveland field office, which still isn't happy with the fact that I no longer work for them, will want to be involved, but St. Clairsville's our jurisdiction. I thought I had done everything I can in Cleveland and that it was time to move on, but we'll see what games the Carozzas might still be playing."

"And you can set this up?" Brody asked incredulously.

"Let's just say Ettore Carozza and I are intimately acquainted with one another. I'm one of the biggest reasons he went to prison, and he still gloats over how he never served his full sentence."

NCIS OFFICE

Pride walked back toward the interrogation room the next morning and Gregorio followed him. It was clear Franz Guttmacher didn't sleep too well in that dark prison cell like room. Yet his arrogance was still there as he hear the agents approaching.

"I just want to smack that ugly smirk off his face," Gregorio snapped.

"I know," Pride said calmly, "But maybe this isn't the right approach. Maybe we give him the benefit of the doubt."

"This mercenary scumbag doesn't deserve the benefit of the doubt."

"At least make him believe we're giving him that. It's not an emergency for him, but it is for us. I don't know if he knows that depending on the level of his involvement."

NCIS INTERROGATION ROOM

Pride walked back in with Gregorio. "Maybe you're not pressed for time, maybe you're enjoying our hospitality and spending the night in this quiet, climate controlled room….."

Guttmacher uttered some anti-American bullshit in German.

"We know that you're not at the top of the conspiracy. We're simply interested in knowing who's calling the shots and why they wanted Prescott dead and who hired you. Did it have something to do with his work with Wiesbaden or was it one of the gangs?"

"You already assume I am a criminal. You know nothing about me," said the German.

"I know about your history, how you would be prison back home if it wasn't for your intimate connections within the German establishment. I know about how you went rogue and cost the lives of your team, and somehow you made a name for yourself in industrial espionage, then who knows why you got further corrupted."

"I AM working for Wiesbaden Polymers!" Guttmacher said, his voice rising. "Like I said, you know nothing about me. This is part of an operation I am running, an operation with the full endorsement of the German government. I don't officially work for BND anymore but I still have contacts there."

Pride scoffed. "I don't know why I find that hard to believe. Unless Wiesbaden is connected…."

"It is a German company, hence these are German economic interests. Unlike your country which sells out your workers for global interests, good for us of course, we take care of our businesses and make sure they are treated fairly abroad. But…..this is a private investigation and I will say nothing more."

"So you're doing all this dirty work for Wiesbaden Polymers. Murder? What did Eddie Prescott do or know that caused someone to want him dead?" Pride asked.

Guttmacher smirked again. "I still don't know what you are talking about, Herr Pride."

"We really can hold you here for a few days," Gregorio said with her mean face. "We could tell your consulate you were sick and couldn't talk or something. Or you can cooperate with us."

"I can tell you the minimum if it means you will leave me alone, but first I demand some water and food. I expected better from America, the cradle of democracy, you call yourselves?"

Pride motioned at the one-way window and LaSalle came in with a bottle of spring water from Kentwood, Louisiana and slammed it on the table in front of Guttmacher, who gave him the nastiest look until LaSalle left the room.

"So now are we done playing games?" Gregorio snapped.

"These pictures you see, I was carrying out my investigation."

"You just found the most unsavory characters in New Orleans to spend time with, all of whom have a motive to kill Eddie Prescott. What is the nature of your alleged investigation?"

"Eddie Prescott might not have been the hero you and so many people in this city believe him to be. Kellie Ann Matthews, the private security guard at the Wiesbaden chemical plant, whom I'm sure you're also familiar with, is also a subject of this investigation. We believe she and Prescott are part of a larger conspiracy."

"And yet there's no notification of local authorities, including my office given Prescott's military status. Nothing with Louisiana State Police, Ascension Parish Sheriff's Office, nobody." Pride himself had way too many experiences with that, with his own government running ops in his backward without the courtesy to give him or any local law enforcement a heads up.

"We did not know who we can trust. We are operating far from home."

"Why are you investigating Prescott and Matthews?"

"We believe that Prescott's relationship with Matthews is to take advantage of her security position to access more sensitive parts of the facility than his own clearance as an outside consultant allows him to. We do not know why he is doing this, whether it's a simple case of industrial spying, to steal secrets and chemicals for a larger plot, or to assist in a possible attack on the facility itself."

Pride was silent for a while. "Why would a drug dealing crew, Antifa, or Islamic fundamentalists be interested in Wiesbaden Polymers?"

"I see I have your attention now, Special Agent Pride," Guttmacher commented. "Some of the materials found in our plant can also be misused in the production of illegal drugs, and I understand CJ and LaShawn and their BGF crew is concerned about their drug source as additional security measures have been implemented at the Mexican border. And I'm sure I don't need to explain what Islamic terrorists would do if they can access the plant. Antifa, too, as they've become more violent over the years."

"And go you went all over to these groups trying to gather intel on Prescott and Miss Matthews and their alleged misdeeds." Pride stressed the word _alleged. _"You find anything?"

"No, but the possibility that you've explored, that the street gangs are not happy with Prescott affecting their recruiting efforts, that _could _still be the motive."

"So you just wasted our time discussing you investigation? So after everything you've done, you claim you're back to where you…no _I _started?"

"That is possible," Guttmacher admitted. "You had demanded the truth, Special Agent Pride. The truth is, I really suspected Prescott was up to no good, and we had to be extremely thorough, leave no detail untouched. That is the German way."


	6. Extracurricular Homicide Part 6

_Author's Note - Here's the next update. I'm also working on my other NCIS New Orleans story "High Season" which is an alternative exit for Christopher LaSalle's character since I really disagreed with how that was handled on the real show. That story diverges from the episode where Chris is waiting the autopsy results while this story is still diverges from the show toward the beginning of Season 4. In this timeline Sonja also had left NCIS but the next installment will explain how she returns to Pride's team after becoming an international FBI agent. _

NCIS OFFICE

"So you buy his story?" LaSalle asked as they all left the interrogation room into the open bullpen area. "I think it's a bunch of horseshit." LaSalle passion and his intolerance for crap was certainly showing.

Pride was more measured. "I know he's a prick, okay Christopher, but we need to consider what he said very carefully. Gregorio, with your profiling skills, what do you think?"

"Well as an ex-intelligence agent he's trained to avoid profiling. He's good, I'll have to give him that. We believe what we want to believe. Maybe Prescott really isn't such a saint after all," Gregorio said.

"I really don't know what to believe anymore. None of this makes sense. I do believe deep in my heart that Eddie Prescott was a hero, a good man who loved his country and his city. Remember he _chose _to serve the community he grew up in. If he was greedy he could have worked for industry full time as a chemical engineer with his qualifications. So someone like this is allegedly corrupted by his girlfriend into stealing trade secrets? And this still doesn't explain who killed him."

"And I still don't his girlfriend, that security guard Kellie, killing him like that, not in all the scenarios I've thought up and tried to simulate. If she were to kill him, she would use a gun, that's the only weapon she really knows, she wouldn't be able to strangle him unless she had him drugged, and all tox reports came in clean. Now she might be involved in all this, yes, but I don't think she's the killer."

"We still need to talk to her," Pride said. "She's the best person who can get us some answers."

"BOLO's already out throughout the Baton Rouge and New Orleans areas, plus Lafayette and the Mississippi coast."

"Good."

"What about him?" LaSalle asked in his Alabama twang, pointing toward the interrogation room.

"Let him relax some more in there. He'll be alright," Pride said. "Now let me go make some more coffee."

CLEVELAND, OHIO

The hostess immediately knew where to direct Brody and Amber as they walked into Luca's, a high-end Italian restaurant in downtown Cleveland with a commanding view of the Superior Viaduct, a relic of northern Ohio's industrial heyday, along with the city's skyline. They were led across a spacious dining area with fresco paintings depicting Italy's seaside villages and mountain vineyards to a corner window booth.

Ettore Carozza, the former Godfather of what used to be one of the nation's most powerful Mafia families, stood up from his table and motioned for the two young women to sit down. A waitress quickly came with an expensive bottle of Tuscan wine and an extra serving of mozzarella sticks and marinara sauce, all from a time-honored family recipe.

"You must be Don Carozza, I assume," Meredith Brody said, making sure to be polite but no overly friendly. She had to hide her distaste for this man.

Carozza's career in organized crime had lasted over 25 years, with an influence spreading across the Great Lakes region. He was finally sentenced to 30 years in federal prison following an FBI sting operation, but his conviction was eventually overturned upon appeal and he was out after a mere 9 years. Yet the Carozza family remained wealthy to this day, having invested some of their profits in legitimate businesses, particularly real estate, including the prime lakefront property they were sitting on this very moment.

"I no longer hold that title. You can call me Ettore." Unlike the stereotypical gangsters in the Sopranos, Carozza spoke in an almost native Great Lakes accent with just a tiny trace of Italian, having come to Cleveland from Sicily as a child. His father had first established the American branch of the Carozza crime family, and inherited his place at the head of the table upon the old man's death.

"You still seem to be doing well for yourself," Brody commented.

"I'm surviving, just like this city. So, what brings you here? Agent Church said you had some business to discuss."

"We in fact want to make sure that you're really retired," Amber said.

"Well you obviously sound like you're not from around here," Carozza said in an amused tone.

"I'm with the Lawrence County Sheriff's Office."

"Where's that? West Virginia?" Carozza said. "Now even if I was still in the game, why would I have any interest in a place like that?"

"Ironton, Ohio," Amber said. "But then I think you know that already and you're just pretending to be ignorant."

"We're part of an interagency task force," Brody said.

"And in our investigation into the drugs flooding into southern Ohio, something called the Carozza Outfit keeps coming up from our sources.

"I've never heard of anything like that. Outfit? Sounds like a bunch of backwoods meth cookers trying to sound tough."

"They claim they're connected to the Italian Mafia."

"I must plead the fifth on that," Carozza said.

"Are you sure? Because someone's certainly sending drugs into the Tri-State area, including Ironton and Portsmouth, at unprecedented rates. Prescription drug abuse is rampant these days. All this money must be tempting, isn't it?" Brody asked.

"Tempting enough to get back in the game?" Amber pressed. "You never gave a damn about your own neighborhood and the lives you destroyed here, so why would you care about a bunch of toothless hillbillies?

"First of all, my family's the reason Little Italy hasn't gone to hell. When times were at their worst in this city, it was _us _who helped our people, while you fucking clowns in the federal government were busy sending our jobs to China. And like I said, I'm happily retired. The end goal of this business was to get out of it. My family owns over a dozen pieces of prime real estate throughout the Cleveland metro area, including where we're sitting now. All starting from a little rowhouse in Little Italy. I like to sleep at night. Drugs are the hillbillies and colored folks game now. The Mexicans too. But above all, maybe you need to look at those doctors and drug companies purposely getting people hooked on pills."

"And none of your people have gone to southern Ohio?" Amber pressed. "Maybe people who still want a taste of the glory days. Even if they're not following your orders, they might have branched out independently."

The waitress came out with a sizzling plate of pasta alla vodka in a rich homemade pink sauce.

"You really think I'm able to keep track of each and all of your former associates? Do you know the current details on everyone whose retired from the sheriff's office? Whatever is happening in Southern Ohio has nothing to do with me."

"If there _is _something, we'll find it," Brody said, "But one reason that we're suspecting you of getting back in the game is because of this." She placed a picture of a man in a fancy suit, then crime scene photos of the same man's dead body."

"Michael McAndrews, yes, he was one of our lawyers. I haven't spoken to him since you people had me wrongfully imprisoned," Carozza said. "Besides he worked for my consigliere. I hear he also retired years ago. Agent Brody, why are you here digging up the past when there's nothing to be found? Is it some kind of nostalgia, being away from Cleveland for so long?"

Brody wasn't even going to argue about his imprisonment, and it was a different lawyer who got him released from the federal penitentiary. "Yes, McAndrews represented your consigliere, Tommy DiMartino. We know that Mr. DiMartino took a trip to St. Clairsville shortly before McAndrews was killed. Before you try to deny it, he was caught on a security camera at the Pilot truck stop down there buying scratch-off tickets. Big fall from grace, if you ask me, from fixing horse races and running underground casinos to playing the Ohio Lottery."

Carozza sighed. "The life of an honest man. And yes, he went out to the sticks because he did have some business to discuss."

"Care to elaborate?" Amber asked. "Besides it's interesting that Tommy himself couldn't make this meeting and didn't even give a reason why."

"I was informed that in addition to living the quiet life out there, McAndrews was interested in publishing a book about his law career, a big chunk of it focused on the inner workings of my former organization, though after I went to prison he also worked for a number of shady people, including the Mexican cartel guys. He was a money grubbing piece of shit. Didn't care about attorney client privilege anymore as that book would make him far more money."

"Afraid of what he might reveal?" Brody pressed. "Is that why you had him killed? Some secrets that you still want to take to the grave with you?"

"Look I know all about double jeopardy, there's nothing McAndrews could have revealed that would have taken away my freedom, and besides some unsubstantiated bullshit from a sleazebag lawyer isn't entirely admissible in court. Now I admit, we were riled up over this, to be sure. If I wanted my story told, if I wanted my family's story told, I would be the one telling it, on my terms."

"And the book sales to you too, naturally," Amber commented.

"Yes, we were pissed, okay? So yes, Tommy drove out there to the hills and confronted McAndrews about it, and McAndrews denied he was going forward with his book, even though he'd been considering writing this book for a very long time now." Carozza held the Catholic cross on his neck. "I swear on my life. Even if he did write that book, I wouldn't have had him killed."

"The medical examiner's office out there has estimated the time of death to within a 7 hour window of DiMartino's picture being taken at that gas station," Amber said.

Then Brody took a final picture out on her phone and showed it to the Carozza, one of Franz Guttmacher in New Orleans. "Would this happen to be the man who told you McAndrews was going forward with his book?"

Carozza's eyes went wide. "Yes, yes it was him. You know about him?"

"He's a former German spy, now an international assassin. You're saying he came to you, and asked if you wanted to have the lawyer killed, and….."

"Nothing like that! He claimed he was a freelance journalist from Pittsburgh collaborating with McAndrews in this book, and he knew to find me and Tommy cause we have this same workout routine at least once a week, so he came to Cleveland asking to confirm some stories from this book, and we told him we weren't interested in talking to him and that was that."

Brody's mind was spinning. Carozza didn't have McAndrews killed, and they would have to look for other avenues.

"Looks like you're in the clear for now, at least about McAndrews murder."

"Well, I could tell I was of great assistance to you. So you fine ladies staying for lunch? It'll be on me, cause, after all, even if its on you it's still on me in the end since I'm an honest American taxpayer, you know?" Carozza said wryly.

Brody got up but handed him her DEA business card. "We're still not done investing any connections you may have to the Carozza Outfit. But I guess its best to have an open line of communication, just in case in the future you decide you have something to tell me. _Buon appetito._"

Amber got up too, though Brody could tell she found the delicious Italian food very alluring. "We'll be in touch, and Tommy boy too."

INTERSTATE 77, CLEVELAND – SOUTH OF DOWNTOWN

"We need to look long and hard at this Carozza Outfit the moment we're back in Ironton," said Amber as she drove southbound with the thinning post rush hour traffic. "There's gotta be a connection somewhere. Somebody is supplying them with their product. We need to widen our focus beyond just Detroit and Chicago."

"You're right, just one more mystery after another. But at least we were able to help my friends in New Orleans with their investigation. The assassin was a faster at false flag operations, someone other than the Carozza crime family wanted McAndrews dead and wanted the authorities to think he did it."

"I can make some calls to St. Clairsville, see if we can get more records on McAndrews and any other enemies he might have had. I can see why your friends down South find it interesting that somebody would send an assassin all the way from Germany for a hit in a small town like that, though if Carozza or DiMartino are trying to rebuild their organization and want to stand a chance against the new gangs, hiring mercenaries is the quickest way to get soldiers."

That was more conversation out of Amber than Brody had ever gotten before outside of a briefing. She could tell the young deputy respected her because she had to as her superior, but deep down resented or even despised her. Brody was starting to now question her decision to leave NCIS, where she had a real family at work, with Pride more of a father than a boss.

"Carozza did seem pretty happy with his retirement," Brody said. "He sees himself as a legitimate businessman, even a city father now. You watch enough movies that's the end goal of being a Mafia boss, to go legit and live the kind of life the Carozzas have now. But yeah, if you're able to get any more information about what else might be going on with McAndrews, I'll greatly appreciate it. And thanks for coming along."

"This is a whole different world than Lawrence County, sometimes it feels like we're in a whole different state," Amber remarked as they cruised down southbound Interstate 77, the bright lights of downtown's office towers giving way to much more humble neighborhoods and industrial zones. Many of these used to be proud, tight knit communities populated by a diverse mix of people drawn here by the steel and automobile industries, but now there was neglect and decay everywhere.

"I know," Brody said. "I've been guilty of that too growing up in Akron. Before this operation I never even though much about Ironton or anything down there, like its just Kentucky or something. I'm not saying that was right. I never understood that till I lived in Louisiana and learned what it was like to be forgotten. Even after Katrina, the federal government never cared one bit. In 2016, when the floods hit Baton Rouge, President Obama didn't even care to visit because he was too busy playing golf on Martha's Vineyard."

"People still invest in this part of the state, as bad as the news makes it sound," Amber said. "When the plants closed here, there were still at least some other places to work, maybe not good work, but still an honest living."

The massive hulk of the ArcelorMittal steel mill, once one of the largest in the country but now a shell of its former self, rose beside them as the highway curved to the south. Two bright flares from its tall smokestacks burned brightly in the gray sky.

"It's really not like how it used to be," Brody said softly. "See that?" she said, pointing toward the massive steelworks. "When I was growing up, that plant was still American owned, and we'd see the glow at night from miles and miles away, over ten of their units working. Now we see two. They talk about how Cleveland's a Rust Belt success story. They look at all those shiny new buildings downtown, seems impressive, but this city is half the size it used to be. So many families have had to leave this area to find work, people who have lived here for generations, and they're never coming back All those new high-tech jobs they're attracting, its all filled by out of towners. You think its easy for a laid off autoworker to just go get a bachelor's degree and be a computer scientist?"

She paused for it. "I'm proud of our area, but Carozza's right about one thing. Cleveland isn't a success story, it's a survival story. There are no real success stories in the Rust Belt."

Amber said. "Where I'm from, survival's all we're asking for."

NCIS OFFICE

"We just got more info that confirms our suspicions," Sonja said. "It…it comes from an expected source."

"Who?" Sebastian asked.

"The lawyer in Ohio that we suspect Guttmacher killed? His death had nothing to do with his former Mafia clients. He retired to St. Clairsville because his family owned a farm out there. And guess what? Their cornfield was adjacent to a Wiesbaden Polymers manufacturing plant and its suspected that toxic chemicals were leeching across the property lines and affecting their crops. McAndrews was trying to file a complaint with the Ohio Department of Environmental Protection."

"They must have collected intel on him and his troubles with the Carozza crime family to make it appear the Carozzas carried out a hit on him. Sounds perfectly familiar, doesn't it?" commented LaSalle.

"Yes. I reached out to Ettore Carozza, the former Cleveland godfather, through intermediaries. The family isn't what it once was, and even in the old days they wouldn't trust a foreign contract killer. But there's more. Patton will tell you all about it.

"Just as the Ohio DEP were setting up an investigation into the St. Clairsville Wiesbaden plant, those resources were diverted after a explosion at a natural gas pipeline near Dayton. I had Patton run some checks off the books and Guttmacher was caught on security camera throughout the Dayton area, including within 2 miles of the pipeline explosion site. Guttmacher's been doing sabotage and all kinds of misdeeds for Wiesbaden for some time now, including murder."

"We need to make sure Guttmacher stays in our custody until he reveals the full scope of everything that's going on," LaSalle said.

At that moment, Pride's phone buzzed and he looked at it, frowning. "I'm afraid that's not possible anymore, Christopher."

"What do you mean, King?" LaSalle asked. "We now have this scumbag linked to two murders on American soil, and it's not like he has diplomatic cover anymore, so the German consulate can kiss my ass!"

"I know, but these orders came straight from headquarters. Director Vance doesn't like it anymore than me, but there are forces above all of us."

LaSalle frowned as he walked over to the interrogation room and opened the door angrily.

"I assume my consulate has demanded my release?" he asked in his curt German accent. "They've corroborated my story about being a private investigator for my company?"

"Something along those lines."

"Let me know if you would like to share information about our mutual suspects," Guttmacher said in an amused tone.

"We'll be fine without you. Now get out of my city."

"In that case you don't accept my olive branch. I told you I have very powerful friends," he said with a haughty smile, staring Pride right in the eye. "And they will not forget the way you and your people treated me. You will regret this, Special Agent Pride."

Pride sighed as Franz Guttmacher walked out of the room and onto the street.

"Got another lead!" Patton said, looking up from his computer. "We got a hit on Kellie Ann Matthews, the girlfriend. She's at the airport trying to skip town. Her Regions Bank debit was just used at the Southwest Airlines counter to buy a ticket to Las Vegas."

"How long we got before departure?"

"An hour."

"Good, do not delay the plane, notify airport police or anything, we don't want her spooked."

Patton looked confused. "Why not just have airport police pick her up now, transfer her to our custody?"

"We don't want to treat her as a criminal. We know everything Guttmacher said about her is probably false, if anything we need her help."

"How do we know we can trust this girl?"

"Gut feeling," Pride said, "Remember like I've been saying, something we have to trust our instincts. Look, I know what Guttmacher said about her being recruited by Prescott in some intellectual theft or sabotage scheme and y'all think maybe she wanted out and tried to cover her tracks by killing him, but it doesn't add up in my mind. She's not some assassin or conspirator, just a young woman caught up in events way beyond her control."

Sonja nodded. "I agree. I'll come to the airport with you."

LOUIS ARMSTRONG INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

"I do kinda miss the old terminal," Pride said nostalgically as they drove down Loyola Drive toward the newly remodeled airport. "It was very atmospheric."

"It was just old," Gregorio said as the new glass terminal building came into view. "Looks like Louisiana's finally trying to join the 21st century."

"Hard to understand if you're not from here originally," Sonja said, "But I'm sure you'll learn to love this city someday, or it will just drive you crazy." She didn't mention the irony that as much as Gregorio seemed to hate New Orleans, it's the place in the South that's the most easy for a Yankee to fit in. LaSalle had mentioned that taking Gregorio to Alabama would totally blow her mind.

They parked and the team quickly went through the new building past the expanded food offerings lacking at the former airport, including new locations of Emeril's and Café du Monde, both packed with tourists seeking their last taste of New Orleans.

"Attention passengers on Southwest flight 4565 to Las Vegas, we will be starting the boarding process in 5 minutes. At this time we as that all passengers with disabilities, families groups and business select passengers to make their way to Gate B7. In just a few minutes we will be boarding our Group A passengers."

Kelly shook her head and sighed as she looked at the app on the airline app on her cellphone. Time seemed to stand still as she looked at the passengers slowing making their way to the gate. Of course the cheap ticket she bought online last minute didn't allow her to check-in early for an earlier boarding group. No, she didn't know anyone in Nevada, but this tourist flight was the quickest, cheapest way out of New Orleans.

"Miss Matthews!" she heard a voice, then saw Dwayne squeezing by some passengers and making his way over from the concourse walkway. "My name is Dwayne Pride, I'm a Special Agent with NCIS. I think you probably know why we want to talk to you."

"You have no authority to make me stay," Kellie said. "Regardless of what you believe, I had nothing to do with Eddie's murder, its disgusting that you would even think I did. I know my rights, I'm not going to let you railroad me over this."

"Look, you're not considered a suspect at this point, which is why we didn't just have airport police detain you. We just have some questions for you that may help us solve his killing," Pride said calmly. "There are people out there we're investigating that's saying the worst things about Prescott, saying he's a corrupt greedy contractor, that you're involved in criminal activities with him against the plant you two worked at, but that's not the kind of person I believe Eddie was. I understand he really cared about you."

"We cared about each other," Kelly said. "And you're never going to understand. You work for the federal government, which is in bed with the Germans, I don't know that I can trust you."

"I have a badge, yes, but we have nothing to do with the bureaucracy and whatever you think is going on behind the scenes with Wiesbaden."

"C'mon, please just give us a few moments, miss," LaSalle said, using his charm. They went away from the boarding area into a private airport police office, not an interrogation room.

"We know that Eddie's death has something to do with something that happened after Wiesbaden took over the plant from Garner Plastics. We're here to ask for you help, not to accuse you of anything. We heard from some of your friends at Falcon how y'all met."

"I've known Dwayne Pride for a while," Sonja said to reassure Kellie, "He's always on DC's shit list and that don't bother him. For him its always about the truth and finding justice for people who deserve it, like Eddie Prescott."

Kellie sniffled a bit. "Yeah, would have been a cool story. First time he went on one of his consulting visits, I checked him in at the gate and he had to wait a moment to get cleared cause the computer system was acting up, and we just like talked and just kinda clicked. Then on his way out, he just stopped by to talk to me again, and we chatted for twenty minutes. I made him ask three times before I gave him my number though."

Pride nodded. "I know how hard this must be for you. And that's why we're doing everything we can to bring Eddie's killers to justice and punish Wiesbaden for whatever crimes they may be involved in." He held out a picture of Franz Guttmacher. "Do you know this man?"

"I've seen him a few times. He always comes with his own security detail separate from us, a German team. They always call ahead and we're told they're to be cleared immediately. They would always show us who was ultimately in charge."

"I'm going to share this information because we do trust you, Miss Matthews," Pride said. "His name is Franz Guttmacher, formerly a German intelligence agent. He's now an industrial spy, and we believe an assassin and that he's killed people for Wiesbaden on U.S. soil before. Like here, we believe it was a false flag operation where the victim was evidently assassinated by the Mafia, but we believe it was only made to look that way by Guttmacher. False flag operations were his expertise when he worked for the German government."

"Great, now you see why I'm trying to skip town."

"Running away won't make you safe, "LaSalle said. Cooke and Guttmacher and others at Wolfhaussen Polymers will stop at nothing to keep their conspiracy from getting out. They may even be getting support from German diplomats. No matter where you go, those people will track you down. You need to tell us what we know so we can help you."

"So I should trust _you_?" Kellie scoffed. "Eddie trusted the government, tried to get all that information for them, and look where it got him. And even if I trust that you're not working with Wiesbaden, how do I know you'll be able to protect me, it's just a couple of you no offense."

"We're talking Dwayne Pride and NCIS," Sebastian said awkwardly.

"And that's supposed to mean something?"

"I….um, thought you were aware of our reputation throughout the city."

"Remember I'm from Ascension Parish, not New Orleans, so it means nothing to me."

"Well we're the only ones who _can_ keep you alive." Gregorio said harshly.

"You don't stay alive and on top in New Orleans for so many years unless you know what you're doing," Sebastian said, playing into Kellie's typical suburban image of New Orleans as a rough, gritty city.

"I guess you do have a point there," Kellie conceded.


End file.
